


shapes that renew

by aubadezayn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Advice Columnist!Zayn, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baker Liam, Bottom Zayn, Divorce, Editor Louis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Infidelity, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Journalist Zayn, Kissing, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Liam Payne/Sophia Smith, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Relationship Advice, Top Liam, Zayn/Gigi in the past, minor infidelity, quarter life crisis, switching pov's, unknown identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: a “you’ve got mail”-esque, coffee shop au, advice columnist!zayn and baker!liam fic where liam writes to “aunt mariam” asking for advice on how to fix his failing young marriage. zayn, recently broken up with his gf and discovering after two years that he might not be happy writing for the “aunt mariam” column, gets involved more than he probably should with a married man, and starts writing letters back to liam privately. he also finds a new local coffee shop struggling to stay open.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a work in progress, just so you know! and it was inspired by this quote:
> 
> “Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot.”  - E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly
> 
> also this quote inspired the title: “Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever." - Radindranath Tagore, Selected Poems
> 
> come chat with me on tumblr [@darlinzayn](http://darlinzayn.tumblr.com)!
> 
> plus: for anyone concerned about the infidelity tags, feel free to message me and i can tell you the extent of that some more.

Zayn’s wasting time at the water cooler around mid-day when he decides to go back to his work area, and finds Harry’s glittery boots up on his laptop. “Zayn, these are magic.” He waves a handful of envelopes at Zayn, smirking.

 

“Give me those.” Zayn snatches the pile of new letters just come in this morning, from Harry’s hand, and shoves his feet off the desk. “Get out of here, I have work to do.”

 

“Oh come on, I can help.” He stands as he offers his help, leaning against the desk. Harry’s in a ridiculously flashy outfit today, as per usual, a patterned sheer shirt with the glitter boots and a bright red hair scarf. It contrasts starkly with Zayn’s mostly black ensemble, and lint covered sweater.

 

“Don’t you have a brownie recipe spread you need to prepare?” Zayn takes his seat, Harry smiling angelically like Zayn’s bitterness is endearing.

 

“It’s already done.” Harry’s smile is serene, and Zayn wishes he had gone to get coffee down the street instead of water from the common room. “Come out with me and Louis tonight. You could use a night out.”

 

“I have work to do.” Zayn turns on his desktop, typing in his password and refreshing his email. He doesn’t like working on his letters with someone watching him, even though Harry can, and has, read all his replies in their magazine. It’s private, uncomfortably intimate, despite the fact that they’re just simple, cheesy replies in an advice column.

 

“You can type up the responses to these in fifteen minutes, Zayn,” Harry swoops down and scoops up one of the opened letters, plucking it out of it’s pink envelope before Zayn can get it back.

 

“Ey!” Zayn tries to grab it but Harry dodges out of the way, holding the paper up towards the ceiling. It’s a piece of young girl’s stationery, a pink margin all around the page, and Zayn’s skimmed it already earlier. It’s a typical plea for help, all about a hopeless crush and what to do, and what to say to make him love her. Zayn gets 500 of them a week, but that doesn’t mean he wants any of them mocked. “Harry, give it back.”

 

“ _Dear Aunt Mariam_ ,” Harry starts, pitching his voice higher though it doesn’t make that much of a difference since his voice is so deep. “ _My crush is a year older than me and a grade 12, whilst I’m a grade_ 11 – “

 

“I don’t think she used ‘whilst’.”

 

“Shh,” Harry shushes him sharply, going back to the letter. “ _He knows me only as the girl in his remedial maths class, but he’s very sweet. And sooo funny! And I want him to notice me! What should I do?_ ”

 

“How do you respond?” Harry holds out an imaginary microphone, and Zayn gives him as flat, as dry, of a look as possible in return. “Hmm, can’t write on demand?”

 

“Harry.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t think they’re endearing, you know I’m a softie for people, but you’ve written the same responses to the same inquiries for two years.” Harry tosses the letter down on Zayn’s desk in front of him, and he gets a whiff of cheap, young perfume probably doused all over the paper and the envelope. “Come out with us, they can wait.”

 

“Fine.” Zayn snaps, turning back to his computer and refreshing his email one time. “Go away.”

 

“Okay!” Harry commends gleefully, leaving Zayn’s cubicle with a flash of curly hair and glittery shoes.

 

* * *

 

Zayn gets home slightly drunk, and more than a little irritated, around 2 AM knowing that tomorrow at work will be awful. A hangover always kills Aunt Mariam’s flow.

 

He’s crawling up the stairs to his flat when he nearly trips over a pile of letters left tied up in a rubber band on his welcome mat. They usually go to his mailbox at work, but sometimes when too many come in, or he just feels like it apparently, Louis sends an intern to bring them to Zayn’s flat. This is an unusually thick pile, though Zayn’s gotten boxes and boxes of letters in the past.

 

Sometimes he thinks Aunt Mariam and her advice column is the most successful part of this magazine.

 

He scoops them up, ends up dropping a few when his hands fumble, and has to dive back down to grab them, which makes his head pound. The hangover is starting to set in and he’s still pretty smashed as it is, tomorrow will be a hundred times worse guaranteed. Dropping the envelopes on the coffee table, Zayn collapses down onto his couch face first and lets the darkness surround him.

 

Louis and Harry drink him nearly under the table every time they make him go out. Of course Louis is a bit more impressive and carries their team since he drinks actual liquor, and Harry drinks those pretty drinks with fruit, and nice colors, and mostly juice. If Niall had been there, Zayn wouldn't have had a chance.

 

Zayn’s phone buzzes idly on the coffee table, and it takes almost all his energy to reach out blindly and hold the button down to turn it off.

 

After several minutes of nauseated, slightly smothering laying around Zayn falls asleep, mouth pressed open onto the leather.

 

When he wakes up the sun has started to rise just enough that he can see the shadowy, blurry outlines of most of his living room. The stack of letters is scattered messily on the coffee table, and Bruce, his cat, is sleeping half on top of them.

 

For a reason he can’t quite place, he reaches out and grabs one, slipping its plain white envelope out from underneath Bruce. He rolls over onto his back with a huff, letting the room spin for a minute and holding in his breath so he won’t vomit on himself. His entire head seems to be pounding along to a heavy metal concert all it’s own, but he shoves his finger under the flap and slides it down along the side anyway.

 

His mouth tastes dry, his eyes are crusted shut, and there seems to be a constant hurricane in his stomach but he focuses with a little effort.

 

Once it’s ripped open, he bounces the envelope’s edge against his palm till the letter slips out. It’s on normal notebook paper, and when he unfolds it he can see it’s been carefully and meticulously written out. Whoever wrote it must really care, which isn’t completely unusual with letters to Aunt Mariam. Sometimes he gets letters about sick family members, or divorce, or major life changes like careers or moving, and all he wants is to tell his readers how very under qualified he is for those things. His bachelor’s degree in Journalism shouldn’t give him so much power over the personal, and important, parts of people’s lives, but it does apparently.

 

The handwriting is a little messy despite the obvious care, and the person has obviously had some lessons in cursive writing since the letters flow together so smoothly.

 

“ _Dear Aunt Mariam,_ ” It begins, as all of them do, and Zayn thinks of what they must all be imagining when they write to him. Maybe they know it’s probably not a gentle, kind Aunt. Maybe they wish it was, so they imagine a woman with slightly aging hands and a sweet smile who sits them down for cookies and holds their hand. Maybe they imagine Aunt Mariam as more of a crazy aunt, who takes them to get their first tattoo and fights with their Mom or Dad on occasion, before a good reunion.

 

Either way, they probably don’t imagine Zayn.

 

“ _This seems silly, in a way._ ” It continues. “ _Writing to a faceless stranger with all my important problems, but why not, right? Don't have much left to lose._ ”

 

“ _I found your articles by accident while I was at an appointment, and the letter was something about an 8-year old’s pet dog passing away. You were so kind and sincere, or you seemed to be, and you treated it like it was serious, even though the letter was from someone so young, about something so insignificant in the large scale._

_(Not that dogs passing away isn’t catastrophic, I’d cry for a year straight.)_ ”

 

Zayn smiles at that, not used to very much personality in these letters. They usually are a spill of emotion, of pleading, of crying, because that’s what Aunt Mariam is. His article, though slightly contrived, is that shoulder to cry on everyone needs when things have gone arse up.

 

“ _I’m writing because my wife and I…we’ve been having a rough go of it._ ” Zayn sits up, though the effort almost has him collapsing back down. Here there’s an erased bit which is also crossed out, before he says “rough go of it”, like maybe he’s tried to describe it another way and decided it didn’t fit. Zayn’s never been in a relationship longer than a few months, he’s not sure he’d have the words to match either.

 

“ _We’ve been married almost a year, and dated for three. I love her, but lately she’s been distant and hard to talk to, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong but I just don’t know what._” This part is underlined, like the frustration and confusion has bubbled out. “ _I’ve tried talking it out, but she always finds a reason to pull away or put discussing it off. I don’t want us to grow so far apart we get divorced, she’s the love of my life, I don't know what I'd do. Any advice?_

_Thank you xx Matt_ ”

 

Zayn sighs, rubbing at his aching temples, the letter balancing on his knee. The words _love of my_ life seem almost highlighted on the page, the importance of this small letter to a magazine shown in just a few words. This is why he hates his job sometimes. He wishes, in these moments, that he’d gotten assigned to Harry’s job years ago – writing the recipes and peppy articles that litter the glossy spreads of the cooking segment. Or even writing the gossipy, cheap articles he reads in _The Sun_ sometimes.

 

Matt’s situation isn’t unique, Zayn’s read a thousand pre-divorce pleas, one million “we’re growing apart” essays of couples wanting to make it work but failing massively. His response though, is quite unique for him.

 

Zayn drags his hungover arse up off the couch to the kitchen counter, where there’s a bowl filled with miscellaneous stationery, gum, his spare house key, a condom and a dvd from Redbox. It occurs to him that his flat _looks_ like it houses a lonely bachelor, he should work on that. Maybe get some throw pillows or something.

 

Once he’s got a pen, that scribbles out ink when he runs it over the pad on the counter, he takes the pad and pen back to the couch and collapses again into the seat.

 

“ _Dear Matt..._ ” He starts, scratching it out after a second of deliberation. Aunt Mariam is different than all the other advice columns because she’s the sweetest, the most genuine.

 

“ _Hello Matt, lovely to meet you, in a way. Though I wish it were for happier reasons._ ” Zayn feels himself starting to slip into the persona, the kindly Aunt he’s played for years now.

 

“ _I’m so sorry to hear about your marital troubles._ ” Another term Zayn’s thrown around a million times; marital problems, love turmoil, domestic hassles. “ _I’m sure your wife loves you just as much, and wants to make things work. But sometimes the people we love, pull away from us without it being anything to do with us. She might be going through something personal, and perhaps doesn’t want to burden you with it, or isn’t ready to share. Or maybe it’s that her feelings have changed. Falling out of love happens, it's hard, but it does happen. You won’t know until she says something, and you can’t push her to do it no matter how much you might want to._ ”

 

That’s optimistic; there have been a thousand sad follow up letters saying their husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, partner had cheated, or asked for the divorce first, or wanted to move to Hawaii and change their life. But Zayn’s motto is always stay positive, always stay authentic to the brand by urging them to try at first, like an Aunt would. Or at least that was Louis’ motto when Zayn first got this gig.

 

“ _Maybe try giving her some space, or plan a romantic dinner or activity that she’ll be excited to come to and don’t try to talk about the distance. Remind her you’re there for her without pushing. If not, perhaps you can try couples counseling!_

_If not that…well, there’s another love of your life out there, I promise. Maybe it’ll take a little heartbreak to see them, but they’re there._

_I would also suggest getting a good attorney if things go the worst way, don’t let her steam roll you because you’re mourning. Invest in your new life by being prepared._

_Write back if you’d like, love,_

_Aunt Mariam_.”

 

Zayn will clean it up tomorrow when he’s not feeling like he’s crawling through molasses with every breath, and send it off to their editor. By Friday it’ll be ready to be printed, and “Matt” will get his response from Aunt Mariam.

 

Sometimes Zayn wonders if people know the situations are hopeless, but just want someone else to say it’s not. Just one voice that says maybe if you try roses, they won’t leave you! Take a romantic salt bath, Aunt Mariam’s orders, and by tomorrow morning your marriage will be nice and fixed.

 

For the first time Zayn realizes, maybe that’s not what people need.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell is this?” Zayn spins around to face the entrance to his cubicle warily, Louis’ voice breaking him from a hot game of _Words with Friends_ he was playing with Harry. His head is still pounding six ibuprofen and a cup of tea later, and Louis’ sharp voice makes his migraine twinge stronger at the back of his head.

 

“What?”

 

“What? The Hell? Is this?” Louis asks again, shaking a piece of paper at him.

 

“That’s my article?” Zayn asks, slowly like he might to someone speaking a foreign language, confused as to what has Louis so red in the face his ears might blow off. He can’t quite see the paper but since he just dropped it at Louis’ desk fifteen minutes ago he can assume it’s his.

 

“Oh? Is it?” His mouth forms a perfect surprised ‘o’ and Louis turns the paper around to peer at it dramatically. “Hmm, says here that it’s Aunt Mariam’s love and life advice column, but what you sent me is Zayn Malik’s rubbish column.” He crumples it up, throwing it at Zayn’s chest hard.

 

“Hey!” Zayn complains, grabbing it before it can roll under his desk and smoothing it out.

 

“It’s bitter, it’s cynical!” Louis snaps. “You basically told him his marriage was a sinking ship and he should jump off!”

 

“No I didn’t!” Zayn snaps back, the entire office probably staring at them. He looks down at the paper, scanning it but not seeing it. He can see Harry standing up from his cubicle a row away, leaning over the top like he might come to Zayn’s rescue if Louis gets louder. Which seems to be the only way this is going. “I just gave him some realistic options, his marriage is collapsing he doesn’t need roses, he needs an attorney!”

 

“The word ‘attorney’ should never pass Aunt Mariam’s metaphorical lips, Zayn! Rewrite it.” Louis demands, Harry sidling up worriedly behind him. Zayn stands up, arms crossed.

 

“No, I’m tired of writing bullshit like _it gets better_ , they’ll love you again, make dinner and it’ll all be fixed! That’s not real life, Louis.”

 

“This isn’t real life! It’s a magazine, the idea is to sell them Zayn, and if half our readers are depressed because _Aunt Mariam_ couldn’t suck it up and be positive, that won’t sell.” Louis points at him imperiously, not seeming held down at all by the fact that outside of work they’re friends. “You’re going to rewrite it. Take out everything about divorce, fill it with some cutesy sex tips. Tell him to try spicing things up with handcuffs and whipped cream for all I care!”

 

“Fuck you, mate.” Zayn snaps, throwing the paper ball at Louis’ face.

 

“Zayn, maybe – “ Harry starts, voice quiet and slow, like he’s trying to be the calm of their storm. He looks pained, his hand hovering near Louis’ elbow and the other extended out towards Zayn.

 

“Do you agree with this, Harry? You think I should just write more rubbish, weren’t you telling me yesterday Aunt Mariam, _as she is_ , is a joke?”

 

“You said that?” Louis asks, sounding offended, turning on Harry now. “Aunt Mariam is important, to a lot of people.”

 

“Like you care about the _people_.”

 

“Zayn!” Harry shouts.

 

“You’re _fired_.” Louis snaps vehemently, shaking his head. “You don’t want to write your column, fine. Go make your own independent blog, for all I fucking care.” He marches off angrily, leaving Harry, Zayn and the entire office in a stunned, quiet silence.

 

“Um…I’ll talk him down?” Harry offers gently, shrugging when Zayn looks at him questioningly. He doesn’t seem very sure he can do it, phrasing it like a question, and Zayn’s not very sure he wants him to. Maybe it’s time to move on, maybe a new newspaper or magazine will take Harry as his reference.

 

“I’m going home for the day.” Zayn says, reaching for his bag and violently ignoring the way his hand shakes a little bit. Louis and he are always bickering, and picking at each other but rarely have they actually fought, especially at work. For Louis to _fire_ him, that’s…that’s hard to deal with.

 

“I promise Zayn, I’ll talk to him.” Harry says again, stronger this time walking with Zayn to the elevator. “Would you, maybe, consider rewriting the column? Just make it a little sweeter maybe?”

 

Zayn shrugs, the doors of the elevator pinging open. “I’ll think about it, Harry.” He won’t, but it brings a gentle, relieved smile to his friend’s face so the lie is worth it.

 

“Great! Things are going to be fine.” Harry claps his hands together once, rings glinting in the fluorescent lights. “Tomorrow, it’ll be like this never happened.”

 

Maybe.

 

* * *

 

 

Zayn doesn’t want to go home, to where it kind of smells like stale beer, and Bruce’s dirty litter box, and days old curry. So he doesn’t. Instead he takes his laptop down to the nearest Starbucks. Might as well start refining his resume if Louis is serious, and Harry can’t salvage the wreckage.

 

He’ll miss being Aunt Mariam; would Louis really dare put someone else in his place?

 

Starbucks has a line out the door at this time of day so Zayn walks straight past with a sigh, laptop bag bouncing lightly against his thigh. Maybe he could go to the park, take in the sun for awhile. Several blocks down, the traffic light switches to red right as he steps off the curb so he retreats and waits, watching the cars and cyclists whiz by.

 

Some woman steps up next to him, and on instinct he glances at her, and notices something behind her. A coffee shop it seems, called “Espresso You Deserve”. It’s small, tucked into the side of a building with a low hanging sign and a big window littered with posters and artwork.

 

Zayn looks at it, reading some of the posters that advertise local festivals and bands, even as the traffic light changes to green and back to red behind him. It seems like a cozy sort of place, where the employees know their regulars’ orders, and the music is acoustic and soft. It might be a better place to sort himself out than a busy, loud Starbucks.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and instead of checking it, Zayn walks up the few stairs and goes inside. A little bell rings above him cheerfully, and a wave of warm, cinnamon scent washes over him abruptly – sweet pastries and cappuccinos heavy on the air.

 

“Hi! Welcome to Espresso You Deserve!” A voice calls from out of sight, behind a wall past the counter. There’s a few customers inside, settled into their seats with laptops and newspapers and croissants, minding their own business. Zayn sidles up to the front counter, looking over the menu and the display case of pastries. Some of the pastries look so interesting and gourmet, with fancy ingredients and names Zayn can't pronounce, and he's surprised this place doesn't have more customers at this hour.

 

“Hi, sorry, I was doing a few dishes.” The person who’d spoken before, a man with honey colored eyes and similar hair smoothly brushed and gelled into a bump on the front of his scalp. He’s got an apron on at his hips, and a black t-shirt with some flour on it. “Welcome to Espresso You Deserve, can I get something for you?”

 

Zayn hums quietly for a second, still scanning the board, then looks fully at the man and says, “Not the Espresso I Need Right Now?” He smiles when the man grins, pointing at him smugly.

 

“You got it! Surprisingly, not a lot of people do.” He doesn’t have a name tag on, but his smile is radiant, pulling at something old and tired in Zayn’s chest. He’d love to ask his name, maybe get his phone number, but he’s rusty. It’s been such a long time, especially since he’s flirted with a man.

 

“That’s awful.” Zayn laughs, the barista laughing too in that gentle, casual type of camaraderie two strangers have. “Everyone should know Batman, ‘specially that quote.”

 

“I definitely agree.” He says emphatically, grabbing a marker from near the register and uncapping it. “What can I get for you?”

 

“Whatever you recommend, I’m not a big coffee drinker so I never know what to order.”

 

He taps the back of the marker against his chin and glances at the menu, then back at Zayn. “Any allergies?”

 

“None.”

 

“Alright, I got just the thing for you.” The barista winks at him, and Zayn swears he can feel the sweat bead up on his palms immediately. It’s been awhile since he’s been anywhere other than home, the office, or a random bar with Harry. He’d be interested, though, if he asked, if he was interested in Zayn. It seems like he is.

 

His arms _are_ rather muscular under that black t-shirt.

 

“So what’s your name, stranger? I’ve never seen you before, and I’m here more than I’m at home.”

 

“Zayn. I’ve never been in here before, just seen it as I was waiting for the light, decided why not?”

 

“That’s probably how a lot of people find us, we don’t advertise much and with a Starbucks on every corner – “ He shrugs. “You don’t want to hear the whining of a small coffee shop in a big coffee world, do ya?”

 

“I don’t mind. I just got fired.” Zayn blurts out his sad news without thinking about it, the barista’s face bending into an exaggerated but genuine frown while he plays with the espresso machine. His hands move in smooth, practiced motions that Zayn doesn’t understand and couldn’t replicate without some training. “So, yeah, I get it.”

 

“Wow, I’m sorry, mate. That’s awful, what do you do?”

 

“I’m a journalist.” Zayn shrugs, accepting the drink he’s offered. “I suppose if worst comes to worst, I’ll start a blog.”

 

“Ha, I guess that is what everyone’s doing.” He watches Zayn take a hesitant sip, and then smiles. “You like it?”

 

There’s a blend of espresso, chocolate and cinnamon rolling around Zayn’s mouth like a warm, intimate kiss – and he can feel himself genuinely smiling at a drink. “It’s delicious, what do I owe you?”

 

“How about…it’s on the house, but you promise to come back? Be a regular?” He leans slightly over the counter, a light blush high on his cheeks.

 

“I’ll be back, definitely, yeah.” Zayn says quietly, leaning in towards him. “I’ll be seeing ya.”

 

The last thing he sees before he leaves the shop is a small smile, a little tight at the edges, but nearly glowing before Zayn’s eyes. He doesn’t realize till he’s down the street that he never got his name.

 

* * *

 

 

He goes back to the office after the coffee shop, texting Harry to meet him in the stairwell. He’s not afraid to face Louis, or nosy coworkers, but he’s uncomfortable. Does he gather up his stuff? Does he try to work? Does he finish the letters he’s already started replying to? Does he have paperwork to fill out? He should get unemployment for this.

 

“Hey, Zayn.” He nearly jumps out of his skin, Louis’ voice suddenly behind him.

 

“Where’d you come from?” He hadn’t even heard any doors, or footsteps on the stairs, it’s like Louis had popped into existence.

 

“My office. Where Harry’s been reaming me –“

 

“I didn’t need to hear that!”

 

“I mean! He’s been _ranting_ at me since you left.” Louis rolls his eyes, looking put out and irritated but not angry like he had earlier. Zayn shrugs, stiff and uncomfortable despite the fact that they’ve been friends for longer than Zayn’s worked for the magazine.

 

“Am I really fired?” Zayn asks quietly, looking past Louis to the grey wall of the stairwell.

 

“Are you really expecting me to publish a response where Aunt Mariam recommends a divorce attorney?”

 

“She didn’t recommend an attorney; she was just – _I_ was just trying to give some more realistic help!”

 

“It’s an advice column, Zayn! In a magazine. This isn’t a therapist’s office – “

 

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Zayn snaps, hands shaking as all the frustration finally bursts out of him. Two years of writing for this magazine, of writing under a pseudonym, of being mocked by Harry and Louis and others for caring about these people – all of it felt worthwhile in the beginning, but now just feels cheap. He feels wrung out, in a way he hadn’t when he’d started. “These people send me deep shite, Louis. It’s not all divorces and does this guy in my math class like me, it’s heavy! It’s cancer, and it’s falling out of love, and it’s losing their best friends – I didn’t take this job so I could be everyone’s therapist, but that’s what I _am_!”

 

“Aunt Mariam – “ Louis starts.

 

“Is important! To a lot of people, you said it yourself but you don’t understand it.” Zayn shakes his head, pacing in the small space. He doesn’t know how to eloquently describe the mess in his mind, the chaotic emotions that’ve been building up for so long. “You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly surrounded by the heavy, dark things in people’s lives, and have them expect you to write them back some magical, perfect response. It’s even worse when you’re breathing down my neck telling me to tell them to try stupid sex tips that don’t work, or changing their hair like that will help them cope with their anorexia.”

 

“Zayn – “

 

“I just, I don’t know Louis, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Zayn admits with a rueful sigh. He hadn’t even realized until Louis fired him that he might enjoy it. Maybe he _should_ start a blog, maybe that would be easier to connect with people, actually help.

 

“I thought you were doing good, have you felt this way since I assigned you to Aunt Mariam?” Louis asks, his tone somewhere between concerned and irritated. Like he’s worried about what Zayn’s saying, but also a bit inconvenienced.

 

“No.” He runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d stayed at Espresso You Deserve instead of coming back. “In the beginning, I really enjoyed it. People seemed happy, they wrote back optimistic even if things hadn’t worked out still. But now? It feels like I’m just pretending, and they’re pretending, and the whole thing is artificial.”

 

“Nothing’s changed, Zayn. The letters, your responses, they’re all the same.”

 

“Exactly,” Zayn nods sadly. “Two years, and nothing’s changed.”

 

They’re both quiet in thought for a moment, then Zayn sighs. “Why did you even assign me to this? Why not Harry?”

 

“Harry has a culinary arts degree. For one.” Louis smiles. “And you’re what Aunt Mariam is, Zayn. You shouldn’t feel like she’s more real than you, you made her, you _are_ her.”

 

“I feel stuck.” Zayn admits softly, vulnerable in front of Louis’ piercing blue gaze. For as much as he spews emotions and love as Aunt Mariam, he’s not one for talking about his feelings. Louis leans against the wall next to Zayn, crossing his arms.

 

“How ‘bout this?” Louis offers, pointing to Zayn. “You take out the divorce attorney part, but I’ll let you add a little more about how you don’t have just one love of your life, and tides change, and love ends, yada yada, ‘lright?”

 

“Louis – “

 

“And!” He holds up his hand to stop Zayn from talking. “I’ll write you a real nice review when you find a new, better job, and we won’t mention this firing mess, sound good?”

 

“That sounds great.” Zayn sighs relieved, tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying slipping off his shoulders. He really hadn’t wanted to be unemployed right now; he loves his flat. He sags against the wall next to Louis, desperate for a cigarette.

 

“This isn’t the end all be all, mate. Aunt Mariam’s a good gig though, and your readers love her.” Louis shrugs, like he’s not using his ultra-serious voice. “I meant what I said when you told me Harry said it was rubbish, the column’s helped a lot of people. The last two years haven’t been a waste.”

 

“I know, I know.” Zayn twirls his finger around next to his temple. “Harry and everyone got into my head, and things have been pretty…dull recently, I just – sorta got lost in my head.”

 

“It’s alright, just…try not to let this happen again, okay? Aunt Mariam is still a beacon of _light_ , even if she gives some darker advice now.”

 

“Cool, yeah, man no problem.”

 

Louis leaves him in the stairwell, hands shaking just a little, stomach in tight knots. At least he hasn’t lost his job. Even if he's not so sure how he's going to keep doing it, with this sick feeling in his stomach.


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your lovely responses, i'm overjoyed that you're enjoying it thank you for reading/commenting!! remember that you can come chat with me on tumblr at [darlinzayn](http://darlinzayn.tumblr.com)

“ _Dear Aunt Mariam_ ,” The letter says in big childish handwriting, just a few sentences taking up an entire piece of pink construction paper. Mariam is spelled “Meriem”, and there’s a drawing of what could be a starfish, or maybe a person, next to it.

 

Zayn leans back in his desk chair to read. “ _Mommy and Daddy are getting a diborse._ ” Zayn assumes that must be ‘divorce’, especially since there’s a sad face next to it. “ _I will have a new Mommy, Daddy says, and a new house and skool with no friends. Mommy said I could write to you for advice, you gave her the koorage to change things, she said. I don’t want things to change, Aunt Meriem, what should I do?_

_Love and kisses,_

_Samantha._ ”

 

Zayn sighs, running a hand through his hair. What on Earth do you say to a little girl? What if he says something wrong and fucks up her development or somethin’?

 

He grabs his phone from the desk and goes to his contacts, pressing on Harry’s name. He watches Harry’s cubicle as it rings, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.

 

“Why are you calling me? I’m five feet away.” Harry answers petulantly, waving his hand at Zayn over the cubicle wall, just the top of his curls visible.

 

“More like ten.” Zayn argues, smiling when Harry grumbles.

 

“Stop smiling.” Harry’s full head is over the cubicle now, he’s probably kneeling in his chair, and he glares at Zayn. “What do you want?”

 

“What do you tell a little girl when she asks you how to stop her parents from getting a divorce?” Zayn asks dully, Harry’s eyebrows ratcheting up into his hairline.

 

“Tell her to Parent Trap them.”

 

“I don’t think she’s a twin.” Zayn thinks Samantha might be 6 or 7, her writing so precise and terrible that it’s probably just being learned. He can imagine her tired, but supportive mother, hovering over her helping her spell out words and hold the pencil right. Knowing that the divorce was for the best, knowing it was going to happen no matter what, but helping her write the letter anyway. “Plus, she might not get that reference, times have changed, babe.”

 

“Now _that’s_ a real shame.” Harry says, and then bends down to the cubicle next to his to ask Niall, who works on the sports section of the magazine. “Niall, how do you stop your parents from getting divorced?”

 

“Harry – “ Zayn snaps through the phone.

 

“I obviously failed at that.” Niall laughs, looking between Zayn and Harry. “Why are you guys on the phone?”

 

“Just give some ideas, brainstorm, it’s for a little girl.”

 

“Maybe I should just tell her it’s for the best? Sugar coat it with like the fact that she’ll probably have two Christmases?” Zayn offers, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear while he scribbles that down. At the best, he can tell her to try to guilt Daddy into getting her a pony or something, little girls still like those right?

 

“Two birthdays too, two Thanksgivings if she’s American.” Niall points out, typing away at his own computer while he talks, Harry relaying it to Zayn even though he can hear pretty clearily across the quiet office.

 

“What if she’s Jewish? Or Muslim? On the Christmas thing.” Harry points out, elbows propped up on the edge of his and Niall’s cubicle.

 

“Maybe just twice as many presents? For whatever, her birthday, the holidays, etc.” Zayn mumbles, pulling up a Word document.

 

“That’s better.” Harry agrees, and then he snaps his fingers right into the microphone of the phone making Zayn glance over. He gives him a very stern look, and then does the thing where he points at his own eyes and then at Zayn. _I’m watching you_. “Be _nice_.”

 

“What? Do you think I’m going to shit on some little girl?”

 

“Not at all.” Harry says innocently. “I just know you’ve been in a mood lately, and I wouldn’t put it past Zayn of the present to be a bit of an arse.”

 

“Zayn of the present is also the Zayn of the past.” Zayn says, wondering exactly how much of a shit he’s been lately.

 

“Zayn of the pre-Goliath period was an angel – “ Harry starts, waving his hands to the left of himself like they’re on an invisible timeline. In this case, the past is Zayn’s ex-girlfriend who hadn’t very much liked Harry, or Niall, or even Zayn himself. Probably part of the reason they hadn’t lasted.

 

“I don’t know about that,” Niall bursts in with, making Zayn glare at him.

 

“But since the breakup you’ve been; how do I say it?”

 

“A right wanker?” Niall offers, Harry laughing and relaying it into the phone even though Niall said it straight to Zayn’s face grinning.

 

“This has nothing to do with the breakup, I’m fine.” Zayn snaps, toning it down immediately when he realizes he’s acting like a wanker again. “Sorry, I’m fine though honestly. It’s been like three months.”

 

“She was terrible anyway, mate.” Niall says comfortingly, wheeling out of his cubicle till he’s in Zayn’s and patting him on the shoulder. Harry hangs up on him suddenly, coming to his cubicle as well, wearing vertically striped black and white pants today.

 

“She really was.” Harry agrees, nodding emphatically. “I think I have an idea.”

 

“No ideas, Harry!” Zayn shakes his head rapidly, tossing his phone down on the desk and waving his hands too. It’s too late though because Harry’s got that gleam in his eyes that says he’s already rifling through Zayn’s closet and calling restaurants.

 

“You just need a date!”

 

“No, no no I don’t, Harry.” Zayn begs even as Harry pulls him up from his seat, wrapping him in one of his too-long arms. “Harry, let go!”

 

“A date might be good for ya,” Niall says, watching complacently as Harry hugs Zayn. “Get back out there, maybe pull one for the night, ya know?”

 

“He doesn’t need a rebound, Nialler.” Harry firmly denies. “He needs a good date, with someone charming, and well-dressed, and kind, and someone who can cook – “

 

Zayn frowns deeply, hairstyle completely destroyed by Harry’s nuzzling. “You’re describing yourself.”

 

He has the audacity to be surprised, mouth forming a slow ‘o’ of shock. “Yeah, but I’m taken. So we’ll just find you someone _like_ me.”

 

“Oh you just have a lot of Harry Styles’ sitting around, do ya?”

 

“How about Grimmy? I hear he’s single again now, and he’s fun.” Harry lowers his voice dramatically, and shakes Zayn under his arm. “I would _know_.”

 

“Not Grimmy, come on.” Zayn’s never liked radio DJ’s much, they have a hard time putting away the radio personality when they’re off the clock.

 

“How about Bressie?” Niall offers, pointing to Zayn. “He’s been single awhile now so it’s not a rebound or anything.”

 

“Oh good, at least it’s not a rebound.” Zayn snarks. “Mates, you know I’ve met both these men before right? Do you think we actually have any chemistry?”

 

Harry scoffs. “Like you had _chemistry_ with Goliath.” He lets Zayn go and sits down in his desk chair, clicking out of Zayn’s blank Word document and going to Google Chrome. “How about someone new then, I met a lot of people at my Rachel Ray segment recently, maybe we can start smaller.”

 

“Oooh,” Niall cheers, slapping Harry on the arm. “What about that camera man you sent me a photo of? He’s cute, right muscled too, eh Harry?”

 

“He _was_ cute.” Harry says, signing into his Facebook at work, and knowing he won’t get into trouble since he’s dating their boss.  “Good call, Niall, let’s see.”

 

“Harry do not – “

 

“Shhh, let a master work, Zayn.”

 

* * *

 

That’s how Zayn finds himself in an honest to god suit, though Harry insists he _carry_ the jacket, not wear it (for the aesthetic, you know), outside a fancy French restaurant Harry also picked meeting a guy, you guessed it, Harry picked. The photo Harry had shown him on Facebook had depicted an okay-looking man with better than average muscles, pretty cute dimples and maybe a good personality, so Zayn had reluctantly agreed.

 

Of course, sitting at a table all alone in most of a suit chewing on appetizer bread for the better part of two hours wasn’t what he’d agreed to.

 

“Sir, would you like to order anything? Or we’re really going to need you to give up the table.” The waitress says gently, expression pained as she begs Zayn to order a bloody entrée for the third time. Bless her for whispering, like the tables around them hadn’t noticed Zayn sitting alone the entire time.

 

“Um, I can leave. Sorry.” Zayn apologizes awkwardly, going to stand up but realizing he’s eaten a lot of bread. “Do I – how much – “

 

“It’s okay, on the house.” The girl says, Tiffany her nametag reads, looks like she’d give him a whole loaf for free if he’d just take his sorry arse out of her sight – so he does. He leaves the restaurant with his tail between his legs, completely baffled as to how he’d gotten into this situation. Game of Thrones was on tonight, he’d been planning for the last week to spend the evening with his hand down his pants, crisps in his mouth, watching Cersei Lannister destroy someone. And somehow he was here, dressed in a ridiculous suit, stood up by a man he hadn’t even found that attractive.

 

“I’m going to kill you.” He texts Harry with no context, and starts walking down the street instead of taking a taxi. He’s only a few blocks away from the office, and only a few more from there to his flat.

 

His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out, Harry’s big dumb face splashed across the screen in the black and white photo he’d set himself as the contact photo. Zayn answers and puts it to his ear but doesn’t say anything.

 

“Why are you killing me?” Harry asks, sounding like a concerned mother bear. “Was he an arse?”

 

“He didn’t even show up, so, yeah, he’s an arse, I guess.”

 

“Oh, babe. I’m sorry.”

 

Zayn shrugs even though Harry can’t see it. “Whatever, I guess I didn’t really feel up to it anyway.”

 

“I’m sorry I pushed.” Harry sounds like he’s really feeling the guilt, which makes Zayn happy and a little miserable at the same time. He’s almost not even mad at Harry, he knows he and Niall were just trying to help. “I honestly just thought you’d be – “

 

“I’m fine, Harry.” Zayn says firmly, repeating it so Harry really hears it. “I’m _fine_.”

 

“Okay, okay…” Harry appeases him. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow?”

 

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

 

“Monday then, obviously.” Zayn smiles just a little, looking around at the people passing him on the sidewalk, and at his stupid shiny loafers. He feels sort of ridiculous, out on a Friday night alone in a suit looking like the last bachelor in the bunch. Or maybe a single dad trying to get back out there.

 

“Yeah, ‘course Harry.”

 

\--

 

Zayn gets back to his flat and finds that his Aunt Mariam letter’s were delivered to him again. He makes a point to mention it to someone some other time, but just scoops them up and carries them inside. It’s not a very thick pile this time around.

 

He decides to wait to read them until he’s showered and gotten ready for bed. It’s a good night for an early night under the covers, maybe with some moisturizer on his face and a cup of tea.

 

In the shower he thinks about maybe going down to Espresso You Deserve tomorrow. He could talk to that barista again, hopefully, if he really is there more than he is at home, and get a date who would actually show up. A date he found massively attractive.

 

His body shows a little interest in wanking, mostly at the remembered glory of the barista’s biceps and smile, but he’s still stung after being stood up. Bitterly he doesn’t touch himself outside of washing, even though he’s only being spiteful to himself. It feels good anyway to wash away the night, and slip into his pajamas.

 

Once he’s in bed, a cup of tea settled on the night stand, and his contacts out he picks up the first letter. It’s short, and from a girl in Australia named Jamie, who wants advice about possibly being demisexual. Zayn’s not certain enough about what that is to start composing a response, so he puts it aside for later research, and moves onto the next one. This one, he’s surprised to see, has a return address which their readers generally don’t include, since the responses go into the magazine not straight back to them.

 

He also realizes, after he’s ripped it open and pulled out the paper, that this is a response. The letter he wrote to Matt, the letter Louis nearly fired him over, and this was the follow up Zayn hadn’t really expected. Matt had seemed more resigned than his usual writers, Zayn hadn’t imagined he’d follow up.

 

Zayn sits up straighter in bed against the head board, adjusting his glasses. “ _Dear Mariam_ ,” the letter begins and he smiles besides himself, Matt’s comfortable writing back to him so he must have liked the response Zayn wrote. He knew some people would appreciate the more realistic approach, he’ll rub it in Louis’ face hard tomorrow.

 

“ _Thank you so much for responding to me, I know you have a lot of readers and I’m sure you get thousands of letters so thank you <3.”_ The little heart is so sweet it makes a swell of affection rise up in Zayn’s chest like a balloon, till he’s smiling like he’s just watched a video of kittens. Maybe things will work out in this case, Matt seems so genuine, and kind, he deserves better than a rough divorce.

 

“ _I tried to make a fancy dinner, even though I work very long hours right now and I was quite tired, and my wife ran out on it for a night with her sister. It hurt like hell, scraping her cold risotto into the bin, and I want to **not** be mad. I want to be understanding, but it’s getting harder and harder_.” His handwriting here seems to get rougher, the ink darker where he’s unconsciously pressed the pen harder to the paper, and Zayn sighs, smile gone.

 

_“The more I try, and the more she disappoints me, the less I want to fix things. Maybe you’re right, maybe I should prepare for the worst. But it’s hard to face it, hard to even conceive that we might get divorced – we’ve been friends since we were in school, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without her or where I’d go without her in the future. I know you said that there are more loves in our life, more fish in the sea I guess, but it’s so hard to remember._

_Sometimes - and this might be too much, I don’t know how to do this -  I don’t want to be me any more. I’m so tied up in her, so in love with her, it would be easier to just be someone else. There’s this quote, I read it in a book a long time ago I think, but it stuck with me for a reason you’d think is funny.  
_

_‘Here take back the stuff that I am, nature, knead it back into the dough of being, make of me a bush, a cloud, whatever you will, even a man, only no longer make me **me**.’_

_Sophia doesn’t much like anything about **me** anymore anyway…_

_I don’t know if this is complaining, or if I even have any idea what I’m asking for, or what you could possibly respond with. I’m just…lost. Maybe, if you did respond, you could give me some more ideas for trying to reconcile? Dinner didn’t work obviously, but maybe she’d appreciate something else, maybe I just need to grab her attention._

_I really don’t know, but thank you, love,_

_Matt.”_

Zayn sits there for nearly an entire minute, frozen with shock and emotions that aren’t his. Every word of that letter had radiated with sadness, with grief for a marriage Matt had probably put all his dreams into. Zayn feels like it’s his marriage collapsing around him despite never having even been engaged, feels like he’s losing his identity without ever having been in love with anyone like Matt is.

 

He knows he has to respond, it’s a gut deep urge, but he’s not sure how to. He can’t put this in the magazine, it’s too raw, too personal, and he could never respond honestly, sincerely, like he really wants to.

 

He really, really wants to reply as _Zayn_ , not as Aunt Mariam.

 

Deciding to sleep now, and write the response in the morning with a clear mind, and consider what to do with said reply, Zayn puts Matt’s letter on the side table, takes a gulp of tea and curls up. He sleeps peacefully, sweet dreams washing away his failed date.

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s eyes open blearily to the morning light streaming powerfully through where his blackout curtains are slightly open, and he knows what he’s going to do about Matt. He’s going to respond to that address, which he knows he should absolutely _not_ do. But he’s going to do it anyway.

 

He gets up and makes a cup of tea, and then settles on the sofa with Bruce and his laptop. At the very least he’s going to type the letter so Aunt Mariam still has her anonymity in that sense, and he’ll send the letter with a return address to his box at the office.

 

“Whatcha think, Brucie? You think I should write back?” Zayn asks, stroking Bruce’s belly and face where he’s curled up next to him on the sofa. Bruce stretches out, paws to the air as Zayn rubs at his curly belly, and Zayn nods firmly. “Okay, well if this blows up in our face, I’m gonna say it’s your fault, okay?”

 

Bruce doesn’t seem to mind too much.

 

“What should we write, eh?” Zayn asks, opening a word document with one hand, the other scratching behind Bruce’s ears. “Dinner didn’t work.” Not that Zayn had really imagined it would, but it was an old classic trick Aunt Mariam had employed for years. When in doubt, make Bolognese and pray.

 

“Perhaps he could take her to where they had their first date? Or somewhere sentimental?” Zayn muses out loud, half speaking to Bruce even though he’s never even seen a female cat before, and half speaking to the air because as last night shows he has no idea how to woo someone. Especially someone who seems like they’re about to leave you.

 

“Maybe…” Zayn runs his finger underneath Bruce’s chin, his cat staring up at him trustingly, eyes wide. “Maybe we should ask about him? If I knew him better, her better, I could give better advice.”

 

Bruce just looks at him blankly, but Zayn takes it as encouragement and writes out the greeting slowly with one hand.

 

“ _Hello again, Matt. Thank you so much for sending me your response, even though it didn’t go as you had hoped. I don’t want you to lose hope yet, you sound kind and sincere, and I can’t imagine why your wife would prefer a night out when you’d put so much work into the dinner. I’m sure it was a delicious risotto._

_Now, I want to help you Matt, but I need to know some more! What are your interests? What are your wife’s interests? How did you two meet?_

_If you tell me a bit more I can help pick the perfect thing to re-woo her, and maybe we can come up with something that will truly captivate her attention, as you deserve._

_And I want you to know, Matt, that I’ve recently gone through some heartbreak as well, and though they,”_ Zayn almost forgets to change ‘she’ to ‘they’ and Aunt Mariam becomes a lesbian, which he’s not totally against but…he’d like to stay as honest as possible with Matt. “ _Were definitely not the love of my life, and not my spouse, but they took something. Every love takes something from you, sometimes big, sometimes small – but you cannot let them take who you are.”_

 

Zayn pauses, taking a sip of tea and rereading through what’s he’s wrote. It all looks rather good, and he gives Bruce a celebratory chin scratch for his support.

 

He restarts, bracing himself mentally. “ _I want you to do a little homework, love, I want you to do something for **yourself**. Don’t think about your wife, don’t think about your marriage. Just think about something that makes you happy, makes you feel safe. Whether it’s a favorite album, or cooking a special meal just for you that you love, or playing with a pet – I want you to do it, and do it for **you** , no one else._

_I would love to save your marriage, would love to remind your love exactly why you two are married, but at the very least, I want to remind you that being in a partnership does not mean you’re not an individual. It might even seem like you’re not, like you haven’t been since they came into your life – I understand that, I promise – but you have always been you, and we’ll find that again together if you’d like._

_So do your homework, tell me a bit about yourself and your situation, and Aunt Mariam is here to help!_

_Love,_

_Aunt Mariam.”_

 

It has all of Aunt Mariam’s typical positivity, with Zayn’s realism and gentle push, and he loves it. For the first time in perhaps months he feels really good about a response, really good about helping Matt. He feels like maybe, this time, he can make a real difference.

 

* * *

 

 

“Harry, Niall – how are you lads? How was your weekend?” Zayn asks when he enters the office on Monday, laptop bag over his shoulder and glasses on instead of his contacts since he’d woken up too tired to put them in. He’d spent all weekend watching romantic comedies, and reading blogs and classic novels, trying to find any and every possible way of wooing Matt’s wife back in love with him. He had barely left the flat except for getting take away once, and that had lasted him Saturday and Sunday which he’d planned for maximum research.

 

He’d been up late Sunday night watching period dramas and looking for all the subtle, intimate ways two characters in full-body covering clothes and proper English fashion could interact. Surely Matt’s wife shows more leg than Jane Eyre but the romance probably still applies.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Niall laughs, looking at Zayn with a dubious smile. Harry stands up from his desk, leaning over their cubicle wall.

 

He raises one eyebrow, “If I’d known getting you stood up on a date would make you so happy, I’d have set you up with any arsehole weeks ago.”

 

“I coulda just set you up with Bressie, and taken him out for a pint instead.” Niall says, Harry laughing.

 

“Save him for yourself.” Zayn sasses back, feeling in high spirits despite being so sleepy. Niall’s eyes go wide, and he laughs out loud once, hard, in a chuckle that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

 

“Alrigh’ mate, good one.”

 

“Do you guys want to get coffee?” Harry asks slowly, holding up one of the small paper ones from the common room. “This tastes like piss.”

 

“Sure, I know a shop.” Zayn offers, excited a little bit by the prospect of going back to Espresso You Deserve, and maybe finally finding out that barista’s name. Maybe his number as well, and maybe the shape of his arse later.

 

“Oh, he knows a shop.” Niall slaps Harry’s arm mockingly, elbowing him.

 

“Are you a local now, Zaynie?” Harry mocks along with him as they head back out of the office towards the elevator. “Should we ask Louis if he wants anything?”

 

“He’s the one supplying the piss water in the common, isn’t he? He can drink that.” Zayn says as they get into the elevator, Niall throwing him an impressed look.

 

“Seriously though, you’re in some high spirits Zayn. You pull someone else over the weekend?”

 

“No, just a, uh, quiet weekend. Did some writing, laid around with Bruce.”

 

“Hmm…” Niall hums thoughtfully, the expression on his face quite clearly disbelieving but willing to let it go for now.

 

“I’m going to Cardiff for an exhibition on types of crepes did I tell you guys?” Harry starts off on an explanation of all the different types of crepes, and why they’re all so fascinating, and what he’s excited to see – and Zayn listens. He actually listens to all of it, and asks a few questions, as they walk to Espresso You Deserve. He really must be on something when he’s asking Harry about banana crepes on a Monday morning.

 

“This the place? Looks…small.” Harry says when they get to the café, looking outlandish in front of the simple store front in his Gucci space boy cardigan.

 

“Best drink I’ve ever had, got from here.” Zayn defends it sharply, feeling somehow protective over this place since the barista had clearly mentioned they didn’t get much traffic.

 

“That’s Batman, right, Zayn? Points for cool name, thought you’d like that Harry?”

 

“I didn’t recognize it, that is a bit cooler.” Harry concedes thoughtfully, holding open the door for them all, bell ringing cheerfully as they step inside.

 

“Hello!” The barista from last time is luckily right there at the front, sipping at a cup while he cleans the pastry case’ glass. It’s still fairly early in the morning so the café is empty, with no patrons lounging around at the tables. His face brightens into a smile so bright and radiant it reminds Zayn distinctly of the sun on a summer day, and his heart gives a strange worrying thump in his chest. “Oh! Welcome back, Zayn.”

 

He _remembers_ him. Zayn’s thankful he doesn’t blush easy, and even if he did, the lads seem to distracted by the place to notice. Harry’s already confidently made his way over to the pastry case where Zayn’s barista is standing, peering into it. “These are quite fancy,” Harry says, voice awed, mirroring Zayn’s exact thought from last time. “And such elegant ingredients, do you order these from somewhere or do you make them? Cardamom and brioche with white chocolate and saffron, ooh I would love to try one of those – “

 

“My friend here is Harry, he was a culinary arts major, writes for the same magazine as me for the culinary spread.” Zayn says as introduction, feeling quite strange introducing his friends to this man though he doesn’t even know his name yet, but doing it anyway.  “And this is Niall, he writes sports.”

 

“Hello,” Niall says good naturedly, then points to the menu. “You got anything that will get this hangover to go away?”

 

His barista laughs, and Zayn really needs to find out his name as soon as possible because his laugh is almost cuter than his smile. “I think I’ve got something for ya. Same thing as last time, Zayn?”

 

“I’d like a mocha.” Harry says belatedly, bent nearly in half to look at a croissant with toasted almonds all along the top.

 

He goes back around to behind the counter, starting away at their drinks as Harry continues to inspect each pastry in the case. When Zayn goes to grab his, their fingers brush like something out of one of the movies he watched this weekend, and he’ll forever deny that he felt actual sparks. Their eyes meet right afterwards, and Zayn smiles hoping that he looks flirty rather than constipated, or weird.

 

“What do I owe, ya mate, I’ll get all theirs.” Niall offers, pulling out his wallet.

 

“Oh no, you don’t have to – “

 

“Nah, I insist. What do I owe ya?”

 

“For the drinks, it’ll be 13 pound.”

 

“Did you want anything from the case?” Niall asks, directing the question mostly to Harry but including Zayn with a raise of his blonde eyebrows. Zayn shakes his head but Harry looks to Niall with a slight pout.

 

“Everything.” Harry says dramatically, looking to the barista with big bambi eyes. “You have an amazing selection.” Their barista grins, eyes crinkling, and thanks him.

 

“Pick one for now, you git.”

 

“I’ll try the cardamom brioche then, thank you.” Harry takes a sip of his mocha, leaning into Niall’s side in thanks.

 

“16 pound, please.” The barista says, taking Niall’s money and pressing several buttons on the fancy, old-style register behind the bar. “Here’s your change, let me grab that brioche for you.”

 

Harry and Niall move towards the window, inspecting a poster, while Zayn sidles over towards the barista where he’s shaking out a bag for Harry’s pastry. “So…I didn’t catch your name last time.”

 

“Oh! Yes, I’ve meant to get name tags for the longest time, but you know about long to-do lists.” He slides the brioche across the counter, and sticks out his hand, which Zayn realizes has an eagle tattooed onto it. He hadn’t really noticed last time how many tattoos this man has, distracted more by the shape and tone to his arms than the ink but now that he has, he feels himself growing increasingly more attracted. He wants to trace the lines of the art, feel his skin beneath Zayn’s fingers.

 

He takes the barista’s hand gently, both their hands topped by a tattoo. Zayn’s mandala is nearly the same size as the eagle on his. “My name’s Liam.” Liam’s thumb strokes across the pattern. “That’s lovely.”

 

“Thank you.” Zayn says, voice only shivering just a tad.

 

“Come on, Zayn! Gotta get back to the office.” Niall shouts from the door, he and Harry already nearly out it. Zayn takes his hand back reluctantly, and scoops up Harry’s pastry.

 

“Talk to you soon?” He asks, eyes locked with Liam’s.

 

Liam nods, head ducked down and a slight endearing redness to his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, yeah, Zayn see you soon.”

 

If Zayn walks around with a smile on his face for the rest of the day, he entirely blames Liam for being so cute.


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> liam's POV.

**_“When someone stops loving you, it don’t make the evening news. It don’t keep the sun from rising, clock from winding, your heart from beating, even when you want it to. When someone stops loving you…”_ **

 

* * *

 

 

Liam wakes up late on Tuesday, which is to say that he wakes up at five instead of four, like he usually does. He rolls over drowsily, searching for his phone in the dark, noticing idly that Sophia’s not on her side of the bed. He’d set his alarms last night, as he usually does, but he’s forgotten to turn the volume up so they've been playing silently to an oblivious crowd. He tries to rationalize with himself that it doesn’t _really_ matter if he gets to work a little late, that it’ll be fine – but then he starts thinking about how possible it is for him to skip a shower, and how many minutes he’d shave off if he ran to the tube.

 

His friends from school had always called him neurotic if they were being harsh, determined if they were being nice – but he’d never understood. Why wouldn’t he put as much effort as he possibly could into something? Especially something he loves, like the bakery.

 

He decides to take a quick shower still since he hadn’t showered last night and he can still feel various drizzles and syrups sticky on his skin, along with a general thin layer of flour. When he passes their flat’s den he can see just the soft, hazy top of Sophia’s hair where she’s laid on the sofa asleep to a quiet infomercial. He sighs, scrubbing at the tired crustiness of his eyes and going into the bathroom. Another night where one of them isn’t in their bed.

 

He showers with only one of the bathroom’s lights on, the dimmer one, because he’s feeling sluggish today. There’s a heaviness to his limbs, to his core, that he can’t seem to shake no matter how much he stretches or yawns or cracks his toes. Nearly done with washing his hair, it occurs to him that perhaps he’ll see Zayn again today. Only having met him twice now, Zayn occupies a strange amount of his thoughts, which he feels no small amount of guilt for.

 

It’s not fair to Sophia how…interested he is, but that’s all it is really. He’s just _intrigued_ by Zayn, maybe they could get pints some time, or he can test out some of his new pastries on him. It’s been awhile since Liam’s made a new friend, most of his time going into keeping the café above water. He wants to tell Sophia about him, oddly enough, but he knows she wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

Besides, if he could grab her attention for more than a minute, he should probably talk about them not Zayn.

 

Once he’s dressed he grabs his keys, and the folder and binder he uses for the café’s books and inventory, which he needs to work on today if he has any time, and pauses at the sofa. Sophia’s just as beautiful as she was when they were younger, shiny dark hair and long eyelashes, lips that Liam used to thrill in kissing. He tucks the blanket higher up over her, and checks that her alarms for work are set and the volume is up, and heads out.

 

He puts aside all thoughts of Zayn and how his eyelashes are even longer than Sophia’s, and his cheekbones are sharper, and his lips look even softer. On the tube headed downtown to the café, Liam listens to music and tries to clear his mind, thinking of all the prep work he has to do before opening time.

 

The café has been his safe haven, and his dream since uni when he’d dropped out of a pre-law program to pursue culinary arts. He’d went to culinary school, and been shouted at and told he’d never make it in every single subject except baking. He couldn’t make his chef teacher’s dream risotto, nor their seared lamb shanks, nor their Bolognese but he could make a rather spectacular puff pastry. It was stress-relieving for him, baking was.

 

He loved it enough to dedicate all his money and time to Espresso You Deserve happily, without any complaints, with only the purest of optimism. The bell he’d installed above the door jingles when he unlocks the door and enters, flipping on the lights, and there’s like a release off his shoulders. No matter what’s happening at home, the café is his happy place.

 

Turning on the music louder than usual, Liam starts setting up the espresso machine, and the counter. He makes all his own pastries, which he’d been overjoyed to see Zayn’s friend so appreciative of since he spends a lot of money he doesn’t really have on good ingredients.

 

Don’t get him wrong either, he enjoys being a barista and running the front of the shop very much; he loves interacting with customers and meeting new people and making people’s day better. But if he could dedicate his entire shift to baking, he would.

 

Once the front is set up, and the case is filled with the pastries that still have a few more days on their sale, Liam puts on his apron and dusts his hands in a layer of flour like he’s about to do bars at the Olympics. This is his favorite part, mixing and kneading the dough, creating something fantastic out of such simple ingredients.

 

He lets his standing mixer do most of the work till it’s starting to thicken, and then finishes it with a spatula and a gentle hum. This is a good batch, he thinks, which is nice because he’s been quite preoccupied lately with everything going on with Sophia and it’s been affecting his bakes. This is just going to be a simple coffee and chocolate bread, with a hazelnut swirl running through it, so he’s hopeful it will go nice and smooth and he can make it part of the lineup for the rest of the week with a few more loaves.

 

Kneading dough is one of his favorite parts, the movements a strangely sensual mindless motion that clears his head of all stress. All he has to focus on in this moment, is kneading the dough, that’s it. No Sophia, no failing business, just him and the dough.

 

The dough is easy to control, the texture familiar as it moves between and under his fingers, the pressure necessary an old and practiced maneuver. Dough doesn’t cry, it doesn’t yell. There’s always more of it, if it really becomes too overworked or broken to fix. It’s forgiving, most of the time it lets you fix your mistakes.

 

Once it’s ready he lays it out gently and rolls it into a big strip, and then twists it up into a plait. He tucks it slowly and precisely into a dish like a mother might like a baby into their crib, and sets it into the pre-heated oven to bake. In school, they’d called him a natural time-clock, he’s never had to set a timer unless he’s doing several things at once. His body just seems to be better in tune with his pastries and his oven than any clock can be.

 

He gets started on the day’s regular order of croissants, and simple puff pastries, which he can make in his sleep generally. He focuses rather on the music, another love of his, the one that had actually brought him to Sophia.

 

She had been a violinist in their secondary school band, though she went on to fashion business when Liam went to pre-law (and eventually to culinary), but he’d always loved listening to her play. They both had similar tastes in music as well, and it had been easy to become friends over it.

 

His heart seizes out of nowhere with sudden sadness, thinking about them in school, in their earlier days, usually does that to him. So he focuses instead on the croissants and doesn’t let himself think about Sophia at all. It’s easier that way.

 

Shortly before open is usually when the post comes in and the day’s deliveries, so Liam’s ready with hands washed for when Paul comes in and makes him sign. “How are you today, Liam? Lovely weather, huh?”

 

“Oh yes, sunny out there?” Liam asks, scanning over their order receipt and rifling through the cart of pre-prepared dough for some of their pastries and the other ingredients he orders.  “I got here quite early, it was still drizzling and dark.”

 

“You know you could get a few more employees for this place, maybe see the sun yourself one day.” Paul smirks, taking the clipboard back and passing Liam a separate stack of envelopes probably filled with bills Liam can’t pay just yet.

 

“I like doing things myself.” Liam smiles. “If anything goes wrong, it’s my fault.”

 

“Like anything goes wrong.” Paul claps him on the shoulder, and heads to the door. “You have a good day, okay? Say hi to the wife for me.”

 

He startles at the mention of Sophia, not saying anything, but recovering enough to nod when Paul turns back one last time out the door. “Course!” He calls awkwardly, even though Paul’s nearly gone and probably doesn’t even hear him.

 

Liam sighs but heads back behind the counter to his small office, which is really more of a closet with a window, to go through the mail before open. He’s added some personal touches to the walls, a few posters, their first pound, the opening photos had taken for him, their first larger than 50$ sale – and he likes looking at them before he goes through the bills. They help to remind him why he’s still even bothering with this business.

 

The first several envelopes are indeed bills from the building’s owner, who rents Liam the space for the café, from their dough provider, from their spices provider, from their coffee bean provider. As Liam types them each into his phone’s calculator, and writes them into the check book, his stomach gets tighter and tighter at the racking up number. The café has a strong, but small, following of regulars, but it’s just not enough. Small businesses just aren’t lasting anymore.

 

They’d said in college that it wouldn’t be easy, the bank had said it wouldn’t be easy when he had signed all the loan paperwork, but no one had told him it would be quite _this_ hard.

 

After those bittersweet letters though, is a rather pleasant surprise that brings a genuine smile to his face. Scrawled on a plain white envelope is the name _Aunt Mariam_ , and the address for the magazine, and the café’s address. Liam sent his initial letter from the house because he hadn’t intended to send or receive anything more, and he’d been more than a bit depressed and tipsy off wine when he’d wrote the first time, but he’d sent his second letter from the café. He hadn’t known what had possessed him at the time to include his address, regretting it immediately after it’d been picked up by the post, but now he’s glad he did.

 

He peels the envelope open carefully, and takes out a piece of printer paper. Looking at the clock he has a few minutes left till he has to flip the sign to “Open”, but that can wait. He reads the letter, eyes tracing each printed word like it holds all the answers.

 

“ _Don’t think about your wife, don’t think about your marriage. Just think about something that makes you happy, makes you feel safe.”_

Liam sinks back in his desk chair, running his palm down his face. He doesn’t even know anymore what makes him happy. A year ago he would have said the café but it’s become something of a downhill slope, and he’s stuck in the landslide with no help in sight. It still makes him the happiest, but surely that can't be the only thing? Six months ago he would have said Sophia, maybe. Calls from his Mum still make him happy but he’s in no state for her calls anymore, she asks about Sophia, about the café – which obviously only bring up dark thoughts.

 

What makes him feel safe? It’s insane, it’s terrible of him truly, but he thinks of Zayn, those dark, fierce eyes that had glittered beautifully at him when he’d asked, “Talk to you soon?”.

 

What makes him happy?

 

Certainly not Sophia’s empty side of the bed, not cold lonely meals, not working solo shifts that aren’t even busy.

 

He wonders suddenly how old Aunt Mariam actually is, some Aunt’s are very young, some very old, it really depends.She says she’s dated recently so she can’t be too old... What if she’s not an Aunt at all? 

 

He traces the place where she’s signed the letter in real pen under the typed name, and he wonders if maybe she has been in the exact same situation. He feels bad for her, no one else should feel this abandoned.

 

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He and Sophia had stood in a field of daisies when they were young and stupid and fresh out of college, and promised things that were optimistic, were naïve. She’d promised to be there for richer or poorer, but neither of them had foreseen Liam’s dream bakery falling apart around his ears. He’d promised to be there for better and for worse, but he hadn’t foreseen there being so much more “worse” than “better”.

 

He jams the letter back into the envelope with a shaky palm, and stands up. This is the first day since he opened the café that he’s not been open promptly at 7:00. He almost doesn’t care.

 

There’s no time to think of what makes him happy, or safe – he has to keep himself above water.

 

* * *

 

 

Zayn doesn’t come by that day, and Liam’s happy that he doesn’t. He can’t take another distraction on his mind today, and though it wracks his stomach with knots, he knows just the sight of Zayn’s face would make him forget what’s important.

 

He needs to figure out what to respond to Mariam with so that she can help him fix whatever’s happening with Sophia, and after that’s sorted, they can both figure out what to do about the bakery. There’s no time for Zayn’s long eyelashes, and plush lips. _No_ time for it.

 

(Liam won’t admit that when he finally gets to flip the sign to “Closed”, there’s a deep disappointment running through him that Zayn hasn’t shown up.)

 

* * *

 

Their flat is in a nice building, in a nice part of the city, and Sophia pays about ¾ of the rent which she insists is fine. Liam contributes as much as he can, he used to be able to put more but the bakery seemed to eat up more and more of his money over time, but every month on the 3rd he gets treated to a nice long passive-aggressive day of Sophia huffing around the flat after she’s paid most of the rent. He’ll apologize, and she’ll snap at him that he doesn’t need to, that it’s fine, that she doesn’t mind.

 

Then she’ll pour herself a glass of wine and ignore him, texting her sister instead of talking to him. The next day she’ll curl up in his arms like nothing ever happened, and Liam lets it happen because he can’t change any of it. He wishes they didn’t even have to pay rent; his five-year plan hadn’t included renting a flat a year into his marriage.

 

He unlocks the flat’s door, rubbing congealed flour off his forehead, still sneezing out puffs of cinnamon from when he’d dropped a whole bottle of it on the floor around mid-afternoon. The flat is dark, and still, Sophia must still be at work or maybe she’s not coming home tonight. She does that sometimes, disappearing to friends or her sister’s for the night and only texting him once he’s called a few times worried.

 

Liam makes it through taking off his coat and putting down his backpack when he freezes, Mariam’s homework running through his mind. _What makes him happy?_

Cold, empty flats don’t make him happy.

 

He grabs his phone from the small pocket of his pack before he can think too hard about what he’s doing, and dials Janice, a friend he’d made a few years ago through his Mum and they’d stayed in touch. She likes his brownies; he likes playing with the brood of foster dogs she hosts on her farm.

 

“’Ello?” She answers, thick Scottish brogue nearly blaring through the phone. There’s a lot of barking behind her, and she shouts something at one of the dogs, bringing a smile to Liam’s face. When he peers at his watch he sees he’s probably caught her at dinner feeding the dogs, and he can imagine her, hand on her hip, phone to her ear surrounded by jumping, yipping, barking pups.

 

“Hey Janice, ‘s Liam. Sorry if this is a bad time.”

 

“Liam!” At least someone’s happy to see him, Liam chuckles. “How are you, babe? You haven’t called in months, thought you forgot all about me.”

 

“Been busy with the bakery and café you know – “

 

“Of course of course, it’s all work with Mr. Liam James Payne. You should come up and see the dogs soon though! I just took in a pit named Betty, she’s my baby.”

 

“Well that’s actually why I’m calling.” Liam runs his fingers through his hair, hesitating for just a second before he thinks of Mariam and sees his empty, dark flat around him again. “Any of those dogs want a permanent home with me, ya think?”

 

“You want to adopt? What changed? Last time you said Sophia hated pets.” Janice asks, and he can clearly hear the distaste in her voice when she says Sophia’s name – whether that’s because she’s disgusted by someone not liking pets, or because she genuinely doesn’t like his wife, he’s not sure. Possibly both.

 

“This isn’t about Sophia, I’d like a dog.”

 

“You know you’d need to make more time for them, right? You can’t have a dog and spend all your time at EYD.” She’s the only person he lets abbreviate his café’s name.

 

“I know, I know. I’m thinking of hiring some more people, so I wouldn’t have to work so many hours. Could focus more on administrative stuff, and baking.” He’s talking without thinking at this point, but he’s surprised to find that the idea isn’t complete rubbish. Maybe if he did hire more people he’d be able to save his business, find better advertising, maybe do some discounts or deals to draw in more clientele. He’d have to pay more salaries… “I just really want a dog, Jan.”

 

“Alright, alright. You know wha’? I think I got the perfect pup for you, I’m going to send you a photo, kay?” Liam puts his phone on speaker as he heads into the kitchen, kicking off his shoes haphazardly in the living room like he knows Sophia hates. Maybe he’ll tell Mariam about that too.

 

His phone pings with a new text message, and he opens it up to reveal a dopey photo of a still young puppy. He looks like he’s got some Husky, and maybe some Labrador in him, and Liam’s in love instantaneously.

 

“I want him.” Liam nearly shouts into the phone, Janice laughing deeply back to him.

 

“ _Her_.” Janice corrects, voice crackling over the speaker phone. “She’s a Husky-Pitbull mix, and her name is Diamond but she doesn’t seem to like it much, you could probably change it? That right, huh, Diamond?” He hears Janice doing some rough baby talk slightly away from the phone, and his heart throbs wishing he was there now.

 

“She’s perfect, I can come get her tomorrow. Drake’s always asking for more hours so he can cover the café.”

 

“Well great, there’ll be some paperwork and stuff but I think you’d be good to take her with ya tomorrow! She’s not aggressive at all, so she won’t give you any trouble.”

 

“Send me more photos, I love her already.”

 

Liam doesn’t stop smiling all through his shower and getting dressed for bed, sliding under the covers towards the middle of the mattress. There, he thinks, he did something for himself only, to Hell with Sophia’s opinion. Just before he slips into an exhausted sleep he thinks about how proud Mariam would be of him.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so I’ve already finished all the baking for the day and the prep list’s up to date, and we do have an order placed for like twelve drinks at noon, a woman named Sarah is supposed to be coming to pick those up so be ready for her – “

 

“Liam, man.” Drake holds up a hand to stop him, eyes rolling back into his head exasperatedly. “You gotta relax, I can handle the shit. Go get your dog.”

 

“You’ve never been here alone before, just make sure you call me if anything you’re not familiar with comes up, I will answer –“

 

“Liam, _go_.” Drake pushes him out from behind the counter, the small door banging back into place. “I swear, man – “

 

“Okay, okay, I’m going. Call me!”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Liam hitches his backpack higher up on his shoulder, and heads out the door, pushing it out just as someone outside is pulling it open. “Oh! Hey, sorry.” He apologizes, reaching out to steady the person he’d nearly knocked down, and realizing it’s Zayn.

 

He’s in a soft looking sweater, and his hair is all ruffled from the strong windy day. He looks cuddly and Liam fidgets uncomfortably with how much he wants to reach out and touch.

 

“Liam, hey, are you leaving?”

 

“Oh, yeah, yeah I’m taking the day off.” He explains, breaking into a smile when he remembers why. “I’m getting a dog.”

 

“Cool! What kind?”

 

“She’s a Husky-pit mix, my friend’s been fostering her.” Liam pulls out his phone, switching it on to reveal his lock screen which he’d set as Diamond last night. She’s sleeping in this photo, head on Janice’s lap and tongue lolling slightly out of her mouth. “Look, isn’t she cute?”

 

He leans into Zayn to show him the photo, and a wave of sandalwood and something like the sea rushes over him. They’re too close for strangers, which they still basically are, but Zayn doesn’t hesitate to move in and Liam indulges in the closeness. Zayn looks soft, smells warm, and makes the most endearing sound of awe and appreciation when he catches sight of Diamond.

 

“She’s gorgeous, what’s her name?”

 

“Diamond, which Janice says I could probably change since she doesn’t seem to like it much. Any good ideas?”

 

“Well I’ve got a cat named Bruce,” Zayn laughs, bumping into Liam gently. “I might not be the best for name advice.”

 

Liam sees Drake watching him through the window with a stern brow, so he clears his throat and says, “I’m going to go get her right now, you want to come?”

 

Zayn’s eyebrows almost disappear in his hairline and he’s frozen with a silently opened mouth long enough for Liam to go bright red realizing he’s just asked a virtual stranger on a roadtrip. “I mean – “ He fully expects Zayn to remind him they’re strangers, call him a freak and run away leaving only a cloud of dust in his wake.

 

Instead Zayn shrugs, “I would, I suppose, but I’ve got work. Not as much flexibility as some might expect from journalism.”

 

It’s wildly inappropriate that his heart flutters so hard it might fly right out of his chest.

 

“Maybe if I got your number I could send you photos of her, be like you’re there…” Liam suggests hopefully, wringing his hands together nervously. Zayn shoots him a bashful half-smile, his nose crinkling at the top.

 

“You tryin’ to pick me up?” Zayn asks, obviously joking (at least partially) by the chuckle in his voice and the glint to his eyes, but it strikes too close to home. It strikes at the sore, guilty part of Liam’s heart that knows he finds too much beauty in Zayn’s smile, knows that he won’t mind how angry Sophia will be later on tonight when she finds out what he’s done.

 

“I’m married.” He says firmly, though the voice in his head shakes. “But I’d love to be friends. You understood my café’s name that’s my first prerequisite for friendship.”

 

Zayn’s face drops just a little bit, and he nods biting on his lower lip. Then he smiles again and says, “I suppose I could use a friend who likes comics more than golf or banana bread. Give me your phone.”

 

Liam hands it to him, and he watches Zayn’s nimble thin fingers tap in his number to a new contact. Before he knows it Zayn grabs his arm and pulls him into his side, snapping a contact photo with Liam’s face squished into the frame with him. “There,” He announces satisfied.

 

“I’ll text you.” Liam assures, even though that’s obvious since he’s the one who offered first.

 

“I’ll be waiting for those cute dog pics.” Zayn heads past him into the café, leaving him to stand on the stoop of his own bakery completely flabbergasted by the rapid beating of his own heart.

 

* * *

 

Sophia explodes, as Liam had expected, when he rolls into the apartment that evening with a massive bag of kibble, several tins of wet food, a big (wildly expensive) dog bed, a new leash and collar set, a couple toys and a bounding, slightly dirty from the day of play puppy.

 

“You got a dog?!” She shouts the moment he admits to her that he’s not dog-sitting for anyone, and no he’s not pulling a prank on her. “Without even talking to me about it?”

 

“You didn’t consult me when you bought a new car.” Liam points out.

 

“A car doesn’t piss on the rug, Liam!” She digs her hand into her hair, aggravated, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Liam’s put the puppy in the den with a rawhide bone away from Sophia’s shouting, because he doesn’t want her to think she’s unwanted here.

 

“I’ll teach her, I can train her and you don’t have to do anything – “ _Not that you would anyway_ , Liam thinks bitterly.

 

“Train her?” Sophia laughs, just a tad bit more hysterically than Liam had anticipated. “With what time, Liam? With what money?”

 

“I thought she might inspire me to take more time off from the café, give myself some more relaxation time, I’ve been pushing too hard – “

 

“Pushing too hard? Liam, the café is barely scraping by; this isn’t the time to be taking off unless you’re planning to sell.”

 

“I’m not selling, I’ll go out of business and be dragged out before I sell any part of the café.” Liam snaps, knowing that she’s thinking about the few times they’ve been offered money for their good foot-traffic location and Liam’s turned all of them down. He’ll go kicking and screaming before he lets Espresso You Deserve go.

 

Sophia sighs, sucking a huge breath in and holding it in her chest like a balloon of rage. When she lets it out, she braces both her hands on the top of her head and whispers, “Unbelievable.”

 

“Soph-“ She brushes past him angrily, marching down the hall with loud feet. The last thing Liam hears is the slamming of their bedroom door, and just after that the quiet sound of nails on wood as Diamond creeps into the kitchen nook.

 

He kneels down, and then sort of collapses till he’s completely sitting, too tired to hold himself up. “Hey babe.” Diamond shuffles closer and nuzzles at his cheek, wet nose pressed to his and smelling of saliva and bone. “It’s okay. Mom and Dad are okay.”

 

There’s something in Liam’s soul, and in Diamond’s big eyes that says that just isn’t true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did i make drake an employee at Espresso You Deserve because i like the imagery? yes, yes i did.)
> 
> ((next chapter might be a week or so because it's Dead Week and i have finals coming up very fast on the horizon, but i promise you it'll come asap!))


	4. four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something big happens, tides are turning. for the better? for the worse?

**_Liam’s POV_ **

 

That night Liam sleeps in the den with Diamond, waking up to thick puppy paws in his face and completely blanketed with fur. Sophia’s left him a note surprisingly, though it only says that Diamond peed in the hallway and that she’s going to her sister’s after work. There’s a heart at the end with the initial ‘S’ but it feels artificial, maybe even pointed.

 

He crawls out of bed grateful that today is the one day a week where Max opens the café and Drake closes it, and cleans up the pee, reassuring Diamond the entire time that it’s alright. He shoots a text to Janice asking if Diamond’s been at all house trained. After that he welcomes himself to a pastry of his own and a cup of coffee, and feeds Diamond a mix of wet food and kibble.

 

He needs to find a new name for her, Diamond’s cute but it doesn’t quite feel right.

 

He also needs to respond to Mariam.

 

Zayn’s responded to the photos Liam sent him with a series of confetti emojis and the word “ _Thor_.”

 

“ **Whattt**?” Liam texts back, settling onto the couch with Diamond next to him, still in his pajamas and fully intending to enjoy his day off. He doesn’t usually, showing up for open or close and nervously hovering around Max and Drake till they tell him to leave. But it feels like another little fulfillment to his homework from Mariam, and its not like he’s a robot, he can relax, he likes it.

 

He does still text Max to let him know that there won’t be new dough delivered because they’d screwed up his order at the call center, so no fresh croissants or puffs that day. Liam had stretched the dough as much as possible from the day before though so that they should have plenty left over for today. Max sends him a close-up photo of clean fingernails and “Gr8.”

 

His laptop was a gift from his Mum when his old dinosaur one finally died after years and years of use, and he settles it onto his lap slightly off-kilter because Diamond’s rested her head against his thigh. He’s not super tech savvy but he opens it up and clicks on the Word icon easily.

 

“ _Dear Mariam_ ,” He hopes its okay to call her that, he doesn’t know if its her actual name or a pseudonym or if she would prefer Aunt Mariam. He goes with it though, and continues.

 

“ _Thanks for responding again, I don’t know if you respond privately to very many readers but it means a lot that you want to help me, when I’m sure others have much bigger problems_.” He’s actually never heard of Aunt Mariam responding privately to anyone, which makes him slightly giddy at maybe being the first. “ _I did what you suggested.”_

He pauses there as his phone vibrates on the sofa’s arm, and Zayn’s name appears. Next to it is a question mark emoji and, “ _Name for Diamond. No good?”_

 

“ **She’s a girl though**.” Liam responds, turning back to his computer. Another text comes right back like Zayn’s not even switched out of the Messenger app, “ _Thor can be female.”_

 

“ **True, but I don’t think it fits either :/. Thor’s too strong for my bbyyy.** ”

 

“ _Wanda_?” Liam looks down at Diamond where her tongue is resting against his joggers and leaving a growing wet patch.

 

“ **Nopeee**.” Liam replies, sending also a photo of her so Zayn can get an idea of what they’re working with, she’s too dopey to be Wanda.

 

Zayn’s quiet for awhile, and Liam goes back to typing up his response.

 

“ _My wife hates pets, but I’ve always always wanted a dog so I got one. It was spur of the moment and probably mildly insane but I love being a pet owner already, just a few days in. It’s a little stressful, I’m already worried about her constantly, but she keeps me grounded? If that makes sense…I have someone to come home to that’s not Sophia now, and I like that._

_Thank you for telling me to do something for myself, I don’t think it ever even occurred to me to do so._

_Now, you asked about my wife and I, who is not very happy with me right now over Diamond – “_

“ _What about Negasonic_?” Zayn’s text buzzes onto the screen of his phone, and Liam hums thoughtfully. He glances down at Diamond, her eyes closed peaceful and sleeping. Even though she’s not shown any signs of Negasonic’s attitude, or ability to glow and blow things up, he kind of likes it. He can imagine as she gets older his baby girl with get through those grumpy teenage puppy phases, chewing on his shoes, wriggling out of her leash on walks.

 

“ **I like it; Negasonic it is xx**.”

 

“J.” He stares at the little smiley face for so long that a similar smile spreads across his own.

 

“You wanna meet a friend?” Liam asks Negasonic, already typing an invitation for lunch to Zayn. “Huh, Sonic?” He ruffles the fur at her neck, her eyes opening to look at him happily. His voice pitches up higher naturally, baby talking to her and getting her tail wagging excitedly even though she can’t understand him.

 

Zayn messages back that he can meet him at noon with two x’s and o’s, which sends Liam’s stomach aflutter embarrassingly. It doesn’t even occur to him that he’s voluntarily getting out of his pajamas on his day off, just for Zayn.

 

* * *

 

On the way down to the park, where Zayn’s offered to meet them with lunch, Liam finishes drafting his letter to Mariam on his phone, Negasonic’s leash clutched tightly in his palm and her head resting on his shoes.

 

“ _Sophia’s always hated pets, she just doesn’t like the mess and commitment, but she hasn’t always been as bad as I’m sure she seems to you. We met when we were in secondary school, and I fell in love with her right when I saw her. Love at first sight might not be real, but I could never quite look at anyone else after I met her, even so young. She was a violinist in school, though she went to college for something else, but I’ll never forget the quiet exciting nights in our first flat, no furniture, no money, when I’d beg for her to play for us and just lay on the floor and listen._

_She was always really supportive of me, and we’d spend hours just dreaming, hand in hand, laying next to each other and talking about all the things we wanted, for ourselves and for each other. That doesn’t really happen anymore…I think I miss it the most. Sometimes now, I feel like she’s left me behind, gone on and become an ‘adult’ who thinks I’m just a silly dreamer. I don’t know when that happened.”_

 

Diam - Negasonic, he reminds himself, gets a little uncomfortable when someone sits next to them but Liam runs his hand over her ears and head and she whines a little but settles.

 

The conductor announces Liam’s stop, and he urges Negasonic to crawl out from under the seat and move towards the door with him. He’ll finish writing the letter later.

 

“Cute puppy.” A friendly girl with a nose hoop and blue hair says, gesturing towards Negasonic like she wants to pet her.

 

“Thank you,” He nods that she can, and the girl strokes gently behind Negasonic’s ears. The doors open at the stop and he gets out, the girl waving them goodbye as she stays on. “You little flirt.” He whispers, picking Negasonic up into his arms even though she’s a little too big for it. She’s shivering, scared with all the rushing people on the platform, and he holds her close as they go up the escalator, only putting her down once they’ve reached outside the terminal where it’s a little less crowded.

 

They stroll towards the park, Negasonic excited now that she’s not underground or surrounded and trotting with her tongue out.

 

In the distance, once they’ve passed over a little bridge into the park, Liam catches a glimpse of dark hair that looks like Zayn’s on a park bench. He’s laid down across it, one leg bent up, bag of food resting on his stomach. “Zayn!” Liam calls when they’re a few meters away, Negasonic bounding happily even though she hasn’t met Zayn yet.

 

Zayn’s eyes pop open and he sits up, smiling. He’s a little more put together today than he was when Liam last seen him, a leather jacket on despite the warm day and hair fluffy but well styled. He’s still rather dashing, and Liam hopes he doesn’t look ridiculous in his yellow t-shirt and simple rain coat. “Liam, hey! Negasonic, ‘vas happening?”

 

Zayn doesn’t get much chance to prepare himself before Negasonic’s up on his knees and licking his cheeks enthusiastically. He laughs cheerfully, stroking her neck vigorously. “I guess you like your new name, huh?”

 

“She’s enjoying it, my little nerd.” Liam smiles, taking a seat next to them both on the bench and peeking at the bag Zayn’s brought. “What’cha got for us, I’m starved?”

 

“Just picked up some chips and chicken sandwiches from a diner near work, good? I got some sauces but I don’t know what you like.”

 

“Anything’s good.” Liam says, folding his legs up underneath him and pulling on Negasonic’s leash to get her off Zayn. She happily sits back, rolling around in the grass. He’s brought a couple treats in his backpack, and a new ball if he feels up to letting her off the leash yet, but he wants to eat first. “How are you?”

 

“I’m good. Work’s pretty good right now.”

 

“That’s great, how did the whole ya know, firing, thing go?” The chips are delicious, just the right side of salty with a good crisp crunch, and Liam tosses one for Negasonic to catch, letting the leash go but whistling for her to come back to him so he can grab it again. He’s nervous about her being so young, and new to him, so he keeps a tight grip on the leash.

 

“Oh, well, my friend Louis is my editor.” Zayn shrugs. “We had a dispute, he fired me but I went back and we talked it through. I’m still looking around for a new job, just because, ya know, I’m…”

 

“Tired of it?”

 

“Kinda yeah, like I still like doing it, I just think I could do more in something else.”

 

“What do you _want_ to write?” Liam asks instead of asking what he _does_ write, he has a feeling Zayn hasn’t really talked as much to anyone about what he actually wants to write. It’s harder sometimes to talk about the things you want, rather than the things you’re dealing with currently – Liam should know.

 

Zayn stares off into the park, chewing solemnly on his sandwich. “Um, I don’t know, when I was in uni I wanted to write like international news? Like I really wanted to write about like refugees, and politics and stuff…but those jobs are super difficult to break into, which no one really told me when I was in uni.”

 

“No one ever does, huh.” They share a commiserating look, one that people their age are very familiar with, the struggle of being faced with reality.

 

“So now I write kind of fluff, I guess, I don’t know –“

 

“All journalism’s important, you’re no less of a writer because you’re not reporting from North Korea.”

 

Zayn chuckles, “Yeah, yeah, my fight with Louis was kind of about that, I said my article was rubbish, he said it wasn’t. But enough about me, what about you? You wanted to have a bakery, or I guess a café, forever?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Liam agrees, feeding Negasonic a treat from his backpack. “I mean I tried other things, things that I thought were what success was or what I _should_ want to do but everything kind of leads back to baking for me. I used to bake cookies in junior and sell them, and my friends always got cupcakes or something for their birthdays. It’s just always been my ‘thing’.” Liam laughs lightly, and a little self deprecatingly, his _thing_ is cupcakes.

 

“January 24th.” Zayn says bluntly, shoving a few chips into his mouth.

 

“Huh?”

 

“’S my birthday.” Zayn clarifies, smirking at Liam with twinkling eyes.  “I’m expecting a basket of goods now, ya know, and I _love_ sweets so I have high expectations, Leeyum.”

 

The idea that they might still be friendly, might even be really _good_ friends, past the new year brings a bright, genuine smile to Liam’s face. One that matches the grin on Zayn’s.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn’s POV**

 

When Liam asked him to go for lunch, and meet Negasonic officially, his heart had jumped straight into his throat. Immediately after he’d accepted it, he’d went to the bathroom in the office and firmly told himself that he was not going to get too excited about meeting a _married_ man for lunch. He was _not_ going to style his hair, even though he’d worn it under a beanie today to work.

 

Of course, he’s a filthy liar even to himself so he does end up leaving the office with his hair fluffy and coiffed but he promises that he’s not going to flirt.

 

That doesn’t quite pan out either, but at least Liam doesn’t seem driven away. He doesn’t seem quite interested either, being just friendly enough that Zayn feels comfortable but not so friendly that he has to start questioning his character. Liam just seems like maybe he wants a friend, and Zayn meant what he said last time, it would be very nice to have a friend to see Deadpool 2 who wouldn’t spend most of the time snoring (Niall), or talking about the greasiness of the popcorn (Harry).

 

After they depart when Zayn has to go back to work, he hopes that Liam will text him again. Even if he can only be his friend, it would still be nice.

 

\--

 

A morning several days later Zayn walks into the office and Louis is perched on his desk rifling through the papers he’d left on his desk. It’s a mess now, which sets Zayn’s teeth gritting together because he’d finally gotten the hundred or so letters he still needs to read organized. “Louis, why did you have to completely destroy my desk?” He sighs, snatching the one Louis’ holding and reading the date on it. It’s one of the older ones, and he feels mildly bad about what’s going to be a very late response but he’s been busy.

 

“You’re slacking, why?” Louis asks bluntly, hitting the nail straight on the head. His head tilts to the side, and his eyes squint shut trying to analyze Zayn who straightens out his expression spitefully.

 

“I’m not slacking.”

 

“Yes you are. This letter is from a week ago, you usually have them at least read the day of.” Louis points out the completely sealed edges and flap, and Zayn groans.

 

“I’ve been moving a little slowly, I’ve been working on resume and –“

 

“Zayn, as your friend, that’s great totally happy that you’re taking some time to focus on you. A little you-time is great for the soul. As your _editor_ though,” Louis grabs the stack of letters from Zayn’s hand and wraps a rubber band around them, then shoves them at Zayn’s chest. “I need you caught up to yesterday, at _least_ , by tonight.”

 

“You’re only going to publish like 8 of these anyway, why does it matter?”

 

“Well it’s selection isn’t it? I want more options, I want the _best_ letters and the _best_ responses. If you need help, Harry’s already finished this week’s spread, he could probably help you.” Louis jerks a thumb to Harry’s cubicle where he’s chatting with Annalise over the wall.

 

“Aunt Mariam doesn’t need _help_.”

 

“Great!” Louis claps, moving out of Zayn’s cubicle. “Then you’ll have them all opened, read and have at least 20 responses on my desk by eight tomorrow morning, right?”

 

“Louis – “

 

Louis comes back in, face softening. “Zayn, come on. You’re my friend but I have to be your editor, and your boss, first. Just get ‘em done, okay?”

 

Zayn nods, because he gets it. He understands they’re in a weird, possibly inappropriate situation and it’s not easy for Louis to put his foot down every time, but he has to. So as much as he hates a rush job, and as much as he’d love to focus on the letter he received late yesterday evening from Matt, he’s got a lot of responses to churn out in a short amount of time.

 

“Rough time, huh, mate?” Niall asks empathetically, wheeling out of his cubicle, leaned back in his chair. Zayn nods, scratching at his neck and ruffling his hair anxiously. The thing is, bottom line, that he doesn’t _want_ to respond, but he’s stuck. He’s been stuck for awhile now, too bad he’s realizing it so late. “You sure you don’t want any help?”

 

“Yeah, I’m – I’m good. Thanks, Nialler.”

 

“’Course, Zaynie.” Niall smiles, disappearing behind the spotted, dull grey wall of his cubicle.

 

He needs coffee, but Liam hasn’t texted him in two days since their lunch and it feels like a bad sign. If he shows up at Espresso You Deserve, which has become the only coffee shop he likes anymore, it might seem pushy and drive him away, or maybe he’ll show up and Liam won’t even pretend to like him anymore.

 

It’s such a short deadline, there’s absolutely no way Zayn has time to read Matt’s letter when it’s not even for work at this point, but he finds himself slicing it open gently anyway.

 

It’s typed this time, maybe because Zayn had typed his? Or maybe for convenience? Either way it begins with a smiley face, and Zayn doesn’t mind procrastinating for Matt.

 

He nearly bursts with pride for Matt when he tells Zayn that he got a pet, though he feels terrible knowing that it’s just put more strain on the situation they’re trying to fix. But he stands firmly on the the opinion that it’s more important for Matt to do something for himself than to please his wife right now.

 

“ _When we got married we were shortly out of college, and my Mum told me we should wait. I didn’t believe her, I was so **certain** that me and Sophia were forever. As I still can’t, though I’m trying (like you advised), I hadn’t been able to imagine my life without her.” _ The letter continues after Matt’s gone on to answer Zayn’s questions about him and his wife.

_“I remember every detail of our wedding, but especially the little blue flowers her sister had weaved into her hair, and the soft comforting feel of her hand in mine when I slid the ring onto her finger, and the sweet smile on her face after we said ‘I do’. Sometimes when we fight, or she disappears, all I can think about is those blue flowers. They haunt me. I don’t think they haunt her.”_

 

Zayn has to pause to take a moment, a real emotional response bubbling up in his chest at what Matt’s describing. Fuck. No wonder Matt wants to save his marriage so badly, just the way he describes his wife, describes their wedding makes it clear that he loves her. No matter what his wife feels, or does, there’s not a single doubt in Zayn’s mind that if things do end badly for Matt and her, it’s going to be absolutely heartbreaking for him. Money, lawyers, hassle – none of it will hurt as much as the sharp break from loving her, and Zayn desperately wants to spare him of it.

 

He just doesn’t know how.

 

“ _She works in fashion now, and with her job she gets a lot of expensive insider type things and she’s always at events and her friends are very posh. I don’t know if I could do anything too spectacular for her, but I’m thinking of trying to plan a good date for tomorrow. As an apology for disregarding her on the pet policy, and maybe to remind her of why we’re married to begin with._

_I’m going to take her to where we were married, so that at least she won’t be able to just up and disappear before we have to talk. I think it’s getting to the point now where we really have to talk, or…anyway, I hope you’ve come up with some ideas Mariam, and I look forward to hearing what you think._

_Love,_

_Matt”_

It’s as good as any plan Zayn has, including the one where he was going to suggest renewing their vows and the other where he was going to suggest romantic camping (which might not have worked out anyway since he’d gotten the idea from a horror movie). He wishes he could text Matt but he pens a quick response in his own handwriting, saying to go for the plan, expressing appreciation for Matt’s loving heart (which still makes Zayn shake a little bit with awe and surprise), and suggesting a few ways to move conversation naturally towards more serious things.

 

He catches the postman just as he’s about to leave, and hopes it gets to Matt before he actually enacts his plan. He starts working on the other letters but he’s distracted the entire time, thinking about Matt and thinking about how much he just wants to hug him, make things okay for even just a quick moment.

 

Zayn puts 20 shitty responses on Louis’ desk that night at nearly midnight and heads home cautiously, smoking a cigarette and editing his resume on his phone. When he’s home he feeds Bruce, gives him the kisses and hugs he wants to give Matt, and goes to bed, texting Liam a picture of Bruce in a way he hopes seems friendly but not pushy.

 

* * *

 

Three days later and he still hasn’t received a text back from Liam, so he goes down to the coffee shop starting to feel genuinely _worried_. If Liam’s fine and safe and sane, then he’s genuinely _angry_.

 

Zayn takes a little extra time to make himself look as good as possible (though he is _not_ interested in a married man), takes a shot from Louis’ office stash, and marches into Espresso You Deserve right at noon. The first sign that things aren’t right, that takes all of the wind out of Zayn’s sails, is that the pastry case is completely empty.

 

The café has one customer in it, set up at a table in the corner with big headphones on ignoring the world. Behind the counter, looking up at Zayn and wiping his eyes sheepishly, is an exhausted-looking, red-eyed rumpled Liam. “Oh, hey, Zayn.” Liam waves trying to put on a brave front, but there’s a pale depressed pallor to his skin that sets Zayn’s stomach in knots.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I’m so sorry for not calling you – “

 

“Not that,” Zayn stops him immediately. “You look…”

 

“Terrible.” Liam laughs, though there’s no joy to the sound or to his eyes. He rubs at his forehead tiredly. “You can say it; I know I look like hell.”

 

“What happened? Is it your…wife?” Zayn feels immediately like he’s been slapped in the face. If anything’s happened to Liam’s wife he’s going to feel like it’s his fault, for being interested, for smiling at him so flirtatiously, for sucking up any part of his time.

 

Liam laughs harder this time, the sound even more heartbreaking. He reaches out to fiddle with one of the things Zayn doesn’t know about on the espresso machine, and shakes his head. “No, no it’s um." Liam gulps, swallowing what seems like a lump in his throat. "The café is closing.”

 

He remembers suddenly the look on Liam’s face, and the tone to his voice, when he’d told Zayn all about baking being his ‘thing’, and how proud he’d been when Harry had complimented his pastries, and when they’d first met. _‘You don’t want to hear the whining of a small coffee shop in a big coffee world, do ya?’_

 

“We can fix it.” Zayn says immediately, scanning the café like the problem might be sitting at a table waiting for him to fix it.

 

“Unless you can change the way capitalism works over night, I’m sunk.” Liam sighs. “The building just got a new landlord a few days ago and he’s upped the rent by nearly a thousand pounds extra a month and I just…I was already nearly under water but it’s impossible to keep this place going now.” Liam bends so his elbows are resting on the counter and his hands are interlocked behind his neck, breathing heavily. Zayn swallows heavily.

 

“Can your wife help pay? You can start putting out flyers, and maybe – my friend Niall has a band who could maybe do a live night or something or – “ Zayn freezes. “Liam.” He reaches out to take Liam’s hand, and he pops up to look at Zayn with red-rimmed eyes.

 

“Harry can put an article out!” Liam’s eyes widen. “It might take a little convincing Louis but Harry could write an article about the next hot local coffee shop EYD, and by the next print this place will be smashin’ that new rent!”

 

“I can’t let you or Harry go through all that trouble for me, Zayn – “

 

“I can’t let you lose your café; it’s got too good a name to be replaced by a Starbucks.” Zayn smiles, hand still overtop of Liam’s on the counter. He can already see the spread in the magazine, Harry’s flowery, charming writing boasting all about Liam’s drinks and pastries alongside glossy photos.

 

There’s an expression on Liam’s face that Zayn can’t quite decipher, something heavy in his eyes, like he’s just now meeting Zayn and is shocked by what he sees. Or…like he’s discovered something incredible, a diamond in the rough. It makes Zayn slightly uncomfortable, all that surprised awe being directed at him.

 

“I’m not gonna let you close when I just found a coffee drink I actually like.” Zayn continues softly, stroking the soft area of Liam’s hand where his thumb connects into his index finger. He shouldn’t be. But he can’t help it.

 

Liam finally looks away, shaking his head and taking his hand out from underneath Zayn’s to run it down his face tiredly. “I can’t let you do that for me, I – “

 

“Hey,” Zayn claps his hand down on the counter. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Harry, he’s been needing a big break like this.”

 

Liam laughs, sheepishly smiling, wiping at his eyes.

 

“It’s _really_ selfish, I promise.”

 

“Well alright, I guess we can do it for you. If you really need it…” Liam laughs and Zayn laughs, a tint of hysteria to both of their laughter; Liam still looks a mess, and the pastry case is still empty, and maybe Zayn won’t even be able to convince Louis and this whole thing will blow up in their faces. But at least Zayn’s able and _willing_ to try.

 

* * *

 

 

When Zayn gets back to the office, there’s a stack of fresh letters on his desk plus an edited version of Louis’ chosen letters for the weeks’ print. Harry is just getting out of a meeting with Louis, looking more rumpled than Zayn likes to think about, when he comes running down the hall and skids to a stop right in front of him.

 

“Harry, I need you to write something for me.”

 

“Hm, that’s my line.” Louis hums, leant against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, and his hair ruffled.

 

“What do you need me to write?” Harry asks, looking eager.

 

“I need you to write a very captivating, very charismatic review spread for Espresso You Deserve.” Zayn pleads, thinking of Liam’s tear stained, still determined face. He feels a little crazy, a little out of control so wrapped up in a man he barely knows, one that’s married on top of it – but he doesn’t altogether hate the feeling.

 

“What’s Espresso You Deserve?” Louis asks.

 

“It’s a coffee shop-bakery, I brought you brioche from there.” Harry explains, seeming a little surprised by Zayn’s intensity. Which is to be expected, he supposes, he hasn’t exactly been ramped up about much of anything the past few months.

 

“You shared your brioche with him?” Zayn asks, surprised. “Never mind, will you do it?”

 

“Shouldn’t you be asking me? I _am_ the editor, you know.” Louis asserts, just like Zayn knew he would.

 

“Why do you need it so badly, Zayn?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis.

 

“Liam…he’s going to lose the café, they’ve raised his dues and he needs an influx of customers right now, like yesterday. _Harry Styles_ recommending the café should be enough, hopefully.”

 

“I’d love to do it, can I, Louis?” Harry asks him eagerly.

 

Louis sighs deeply, like he’s being severely inconvenienced, and then smiles. “Fine, but I get to meet the man who’s put a twinkle back in our Zaynie’s eye.”

 

“We can do that.” Zayn holds out his hand to shake, and Louis takes it. Harry smiles, and finally, Zayn feels like things might be slotting into place, into a good spot.

 

\--

 

He heads back to his desk to get ahead on the newest letters so he’ll have time to dedicate to helping Liam, and finds at the very top of the stack a letter from Matt. He’s scared to see what happened with his wife, so he hesitates to open it, reading another letter first but quitting halfway through to switch back to Matt.

 

“ _Mariam_ ,” It begins solemnly with no greeting.

 

“ _I didn’t get to take my wife to where we were married, because I’ve received some terrible news.”_ Zayn freezes, terrified he’s going to read something like cancer, or a family death, and it’s been a tumultuous day as is. Maybe he shouldn’t steam ahead, maybe he needs a break for the day.

 

He pushes forward instead, too concerned to pause. “ _I don’t think I ever mentioned it, but I’m a baker._ ” Something strange runs up Zayn’s spine, something like bells, alarm bells. “ _I run this café, and it’s been my dream my entire life since I realized I could **actually** do it. When we were first married, Sophia and I were so optimistic, and she supported me every step of the way. But once things started getting hard, once the café required more work than reward it provided, she started to get angrier._

_She stopped believing in the dream, and I had to carry it alone. Tonight I’ve found out that I’m going to lose that dream, I’m going to lose my café and bakery. I’m out of money, and I have no customers. My wife hates me. **Everythin** g is falling apart, Mariam._

_I don’t know what to do from here, I don’t know what to do with my life without Sophia, without the café._

_Thank you for helping me, but I don’t think romantic dinners will save me and Sophia now, and I don’t think anything could save my business. I guess now…I can’t even afford that attorney you suggested. I guess from here I just need to ride the wave and hope I come out on the other side somehow. I wish that…I could thank you, as **you** , because I’m sure you’re not whoever the ‘Aunt Mariam’ persona is supposed to be. Maybe you’re just like me, young and confused, and not liking the person that you are right now or the situation that you are in._

_Thank you, whoever you are,_

_Matt._ ”

 

Zayn’s heart aches deeply for Matt, but there’s something itching at the back of his mind loudly. So loudly and persistently that Zayn flips the envelope over, tracing the return address with one finger. It can’t be…it’s impossible, absolutely downright improbable. Zayn receives thousands of letters a year, hundreds a month.

 

He wakes his computer up, opening a new Chrome tab. He hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard. If he does look it up…and he’s correct, he’s going to have an entire new problem on his hands.

 

He types in the address carefully, making sure each letter and number is correct, and presses enter. His eyes squeeze shut at the very last second, and he takes a deep breath. Then he looks, and his jaw nearly falls to his desk.

 

The address, which has been sending Matt’s letters, belongs to the storefront of Espresso You Deserve.

 

“Oh _shit_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoo i'm a huge liar and procrastinator so while i should be, and should have been, studying for finals i was working on this chapter. i hope y'all like it and this time i really will see you on the other side of finals with a new chapter ily all so much thank you for your feedback and love <33


	5. five.

**_You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. - Louise Erdrich_ **

 

The very next morning the bell jingles happily and innocently when Zayn enters Espresso You Deserve. His shoes squeak just a little on the nicely washed floors as he walks to the counter, their soles wet from the downpour outside. He hears Liam greet him from the back, voice cheerful if a little bit subdued. Zayn had texted him that he had good news about the café but he’d wanted to explain in person and fill him in on exactly what would have to happen from here on out.

 

He also had spent all night tossing and turning in bed, and asking Bruce for help, about whether or not to tell him that Zayn was Aunt Mariam…and that he knew Liam was Matt. Somewhere in his flat there was a piece of paper with two messy columns weighing all the positives and negatives of telling Liam he knows.

 

This morning he’d decided firmly on the tube that he was going to tell him, that it was only fair as his  _friend_  to not let him go on oblivious. He’d immediately changed his mind though because he couldn’t imagine telling Liam that he knows everything, that he knows about the blue flowers, and he knows how much Negasonic’s put strain on his marriage, and he knows that his wife is awful for him. He can’t tell Liam that he knows he’s Matt because Aunt Mariam was supposed to be  _helping_  Matt rekindle and save his marriage, and knowing what he does, having a personal stake in it, Zayn doesn’t know if he can anymore.

 

He also, and this admits only to himself quietly, is slightly embarrassed that he’s Aunt Mariam. A bachelor’s degree, years of university, and Zayn writes a measly advice column.

 

But that’s behind him, Zayn thinks firmly, he’s decided. He’s going to tell him. 

 

Liam comes out from behind the counter looking better but tired, his hair is curly and messy rather than coiffed and his smile for Zayn is genuine but tight at the edges. He looks overworked, and he hasn’t even washed his hands where up to his elbows he’s covered in flour. At least he’s baking again. “Hey Zayn.”

 

He’s going to do it.

 

“Hey, Liam, good morning.” Okay, now say you’re Aunt Mariam. Or maybe ask how his marriage is going, how’s the wife? Try to segue in with whether he’s made any risotto lately. “How are you?”

 

“I’m better, I’m better, I came in super early to set up and have some quiet baking time. It helps clear my head.” Liam shrugs, smiling. “I’m just trying to stay calm until you tell me what your  _plan_  is.”

 

He can’t do it. He can’t admit that he’s Aunt Mariam, and that he knows Liam’s wife won’t help him with the café. There’s a dirtiness underneath his skin like he’s crawling with lies with each second he doesn’t admit what he knows and who he is. He  _has_  to, it’s only fair.

 

“Harry’s agreed to write the spread on you, so you’ll have four glossy pages all about Espresso You Deserve!” Liam’s face lights up like a Christmas tree in all those New York movies, and Zayn feels his heart constrict. This man in front of him is so kind, so genuine, he deserves better than the pain Zayn’s read in his letters. Zayn can’t imagine how Sophia fell out of love with him.

 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible, Zayn. I – I really can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Liam’s eyes are a little glossy with emotion, and he comes around the counter reaching out for Zayn. Just before Zayn can collapse happily into his arms, Liam gasps. “Oh, sorry – I forgot.” He apologizes, looking down at the flour on his arms. “You probably don’t want me getting you all dirty- Oh!”

 

Zayn doesn’t let himself think of how Matt had described Sophia, or how he’d talked about their love like it was eternal, as he buries his face in Liam’s warm, slightly flour-y neck, arms tight around his waist. Liam’s hands settle on Zayn’s back lightly like he wants to hold tighter but is still trying to avoid getting Zayn dirty.

 

“I’m serious, thank you.” Liam says quietly in Zayn’s ear. They pull back slowly, just enough that Zayn can still feel the heat radiating from Liam’s body, and one of his hands lingers on Liam’s waist. “I don’t know how I can repay you, or thank you, and I can’t…I don’t know how to describe to you how glad I am that you came into the shop, man. I’m so glad I was lucky enough to meet you.”

 

Zayn’s about to do it, the words are on the tip of his tongue ready to spill out _. I’m Aunt Mariam, your wife is shit, run away with me!_

“Liam!  _Babe_ , I thought Max was opening today.” A female voice says, speaking right over the jingle of the bell and Zayn jerks to look at the door. She’s beautiful, objectively, though Zayn’s heart drops to the floor. She’s clad in a fancy designer vest and pristine white sweater, her light brown hair contrasting the white. She looks like the picture you have to take out of frames you buy, that perfect smiling life they sell you a piece of cheap wood and glass with.

 

Zayn knows what lies beneath, he’s read the letters, but he can’t help himself feeling crushed anyway.

 

“Sophia, what are you doing here?” Liam asks, jumping away from Zayn like he’s been stung by a bee. The expression on his face isn’t exactly friendly or happy, but he does seem pleasantly surprised, like Sophia’s done some huge gesture by showing up to the café.

 

“You forgot your phone.” She says, holding it out to him. “Hi, I’m Sophia. Who are you?” There’s something sharp to her expression, that Zayn hesitates to label as threatening, but it makes him shake her hand just a little harsher than he usually would. Maybe it’s just because she’s in the fashion industry, Zayn’s heard it’s even more cut-throat than journalism.

 

“I’m Zayn.” He says. “You must be Liam’s wife.”

 

“That’s me.” She says cheerfully, though when she turns to look at Liam there’s nothing very endearing about her expression. “Is he the one who told you to get a dog?”

 

Liam shrinks just a little bit, like a child being called out with their hand in the cookie jar. “No, no Zayn’s not...he helped me name her though, Negasonic.”

 

“Do you like Marvel, Sophia?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms but trying not to look as hostile as he feels. He wants her to leave so badly, so he can still pretend the café is his and Liam’s place, that he’s not married.

 

“Not much, no.” She says flatly, giving Zayn the bare minimum of a glance. “Alright, I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave. Also I’m going to Kate’s tonight, wine night.”

 

“Great.” Liam says, though the tightness of his frown says otherwise.

 

“Yeah.” Sophia agrees, bounding in to kiss Liam’s cheek briefly before heading for the day. Just before she goes, she stops and levels Zayn with a look that can’t be read as anything other than hostile, and says, “Lovely meeting you, Zayn.”

 

“You too,” Zayn responds, unsure what his expression is doing but knowing it’s not very positive.

 

“Anyway…” Liam trails off. “Can I get you a drink or something? We could sit, talk about the article…”

 

It takes a moment for Zayn to tear himself out of his suddenly dark mood, and his cloudy thoughts, but eventually he looks back to Liam’s hopeful face and offers a small smile. “Sounds great, Harry’s given me some preliminary stuff to ask you.”

 

* * *

 

“So, Harry is going to do the actual interview but he said I could ask you the first questions, and get you to sign these release forms.” Zayn slides the paperwork across the table where Harry’s already labelled all the places Liam needs to sign with little star stickers. “It’s just standard allowing-us-to-photograph-and-reference Espresso You Deserve type paperwork. This is a liability form just discussing and acknowledging your rights, and our rights. It’s all pretty standard, I do this type of stuff all the time.”

 

Liam scans over each page carefully before he signs, and Zayn can’t help but think he would have been good at that law major even if it hadn’t been his passion.

 

“Do you think this will really save the café?” Liam asks once everything is signed and put back into the folder Zayn will bring to Harry later. His voice is soft, asking Zayn as a friend not as an expert.

 

“It’s not a guarantee,” Zayn starts, hurrying when Liam’s face drops. “But Harry has an incredibly diverse and strong fan base, and he’s very well known in the culinary world. His articles  _have_  saved businesses and they’ve brought small local businesses to the forefront. Harry has real power in the community, and I put real stock in his ability to write about something respectfully, and charismatically, and with integrity.”

 

“What does all that mean in English?” Liam jokes.

 

“It means that Louis wouldn’t have even bothered letting Harry write about your café if we didn’t all think we could have a real influence on the outcome and save it.” Zayn leans back in his seat. “Speaking of, my editor wants to meet you as well.”

 

“Does he have questions for me too? I thought Harry would be doing most of it.”

 

Zayn clears his throat uncomfortably, leaning back onto the table and then back in his seat again. He fiddles with his half empty mug, before meeting Liam’s forehead with a strong gaze. “Me and Louis have been friends for a long time,” He starts. “He wants to meet the person who, ya know, I’m trying to help out. As a friend. He wants to meet you because we’re friends.”

 

“Oh,” Liam says, eyebrows raising into Zayn’s eye line. “Is he as nice as Harry?”

 

Zayn chuckles, and shakes his head. “If I had to try to describe them I’d say Harry is honey, because everyone loves him, he’s smooth, and sweet. Louis is more like the lime you bite into after a tequila shot, but ya know, in a good way.”

 

Liam laughs, rifling through some of the sample articles Zayn brought so he’d have an idea of what he’s getting with Harry.

 

“Sophia’s nice.” Zayn says slowly, easing into it because even as the words are coming out of his mouth he’s not sure he wants to talk about her. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s lost all of his nerve when it comes to admitting he’s Aunt Mariam, and he doesn’t know how to express his disdain for her without giving the context.

 

Liam laughs lightly, and shakes her head. “She isn’t usually. She made Drake cry the first time she met him.”

 

“Really? He doesn’t seem like the type.”

 

“Well he tried to flirt with her,” Liam waves a hand in the air. “Didn’t know of course that she’s my wife, obviously and she told him he looked like a turtle, and couldn’t make a cappuccino to save his life.”

 

“Harsh.” Zayn says, meaning to lighten it with a laugh but the chuckle gets stuck in his throat. Liam looks at him strangely, and then shrugs.

 

“I love her.” He says firmly, like he’s more saying it for himself than Zayn, and then laughs awkwardly to cover it up. “We met in school, she used to tell people who bullied me off.”

 

“You were bullied?” Zayn can’t imagine anyone not liking Liam, it seems incomprehensible.

 

“Yeah, pretty bad.” Liam shrugs again, though this time it seems like it’s more meant to cover up the slight waver to his voice. “Soph is actually my first girlfriend, as well, only other girl I ever asked laughed in my face.”

 

“You don’t deserve that.” Zayn snaps, for the first time in his life genuinely wanting to hit someone he doesn’t even know.

 

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, no weird self esteem issues here, just how it was.” Liam slides a photo across the table to Zayn, and he bends to look at it. It’s a close up shot of a storefront window, a pizza place, and the owner is in the back tossing just at the time of the picture. It’s nice, as all Harry’s photos usually are. “I like this one, you think we could do something similar?”

 

“Course, Harry’s really good at capturing these little moments. You’ll love working with him.”

 

It’s quiet for a moment as Zayn looks at the other photos, comparing them to the one Liam liked enough to point out, then he feels a light touch on his forearm. He glances up to see Liam watching him closely, eyes soft and warm in the café’s lighting.  “I’ll be working with you as well, right? You’re not going to just pass me off to Harry?”

 

“Course not!” Zayn denies vehemently, shocked at even the idea. He’ll see this all the way to the end, till Liam’s having to turn people away from his packed café.

 

“Good,” Liam grins, eyes crinkling. “Because I would love to read some of your writing too! I got a few copies of the magazine before but I’ve never seen your name anywhere in it?”

 

Zayn freezes. That’s the perfect segue, he doesn’t even actually have to admit to his knowledge. He can just say he writes the Aunt Mariam column, and pretend he never made the connection between Liam and Matt (despite their obvious similarities). Then he thinks of Sophia, and her perfect white smile, and he thinks about Matt’s trusting appreciation for Mariam, and he can’t do it.

 

Right now isn’t the right time.

 

He’s not sure when the right time will be, it’s just not right now.

 

* * *

 

Aunt Mariam doesn’t get the chance to reply to Matt, or  _Liam_  as Zayn should probably get used to thinking of him as, because another letter comes in a day after Zayn makes the realization. At the time he hadn’t completely decided whether or not he was going to reply anymore, thinking it might further the betrayal. He’d gotten out of Liam’s questions by saying he was getting a call from Harry, which had surprisingly worked even though he got the idea from movies. He’d also felt terrible the entire time he was pretending to chat with Harry.

 

Liam’s letter sits quietly on Zayn’s coffee table seeming to glow red and make alarm noises. He should not read it, that’s for certain. If he reads it, and he  _knows_  Matt is Liam, this has officially become a Bad Thing. He’s doing something that presses Liam’s privacy, and his trust, and he should not do it. But he wants to, his curiosity itches at his fingers telling them to peel open the envelope and read.

 

Bruce comes over and sits in his lap just as Zayn’s about to get up for his phone, to call Harry and ask advice, so he shrugs and snatches up the letter. “I shouldn’t read it, Bruce.” Zayn says, scratching at Bruce’s ears and thinking about Negasonic. He had named, and pushed Liam (in a way) to get his dog and driven Sophia just a little bit further away inadvertently. Which didn’t entirely make him feel bad.

 

How could he read this letter? And god forbid,  _respond_ , when Aunt Mariam was supposed to be saving Liam’s marriage and all Zayn wanted was for it to end.

 

Bruce gets up and curls up in the corner of the sofa with his head resting up on the arm, so Zayn grabs his phone from the kitchen and dials Harry. He hesitates on adding Niall to the call, and then does it anyway. It rings pleasantly several times and then Harry’s voice comes through, “Hullo.”

 

“Are we on a conference call?” Niall suddenly says, sounding sleepy. “I’m here with Bres, okay if I put you on speaker?”

 

“Sure,” Zayn concedes, at this point he could use anyone and everyone’s opinion.

 

“’Ello, Zayn. Harry.” Bressie says, voice higher than Zayn always expects.

 

“So what’s so important you set up a conference call?” Harry asks, sounding more put together after some ruffling around, probably having sat up in bed on or on the sofa.

 

“What do you do if you’re attracted to a married man?” A series of groans and enthusiastic complaining come across and Zayn sighs, he needs better friends.

 

“That’s right awful, babe, but you’re not…considering doing something are you?” Harry asks cautiously.

 

“Infidelity sucks.” Bressie says eloquently, slamming his fist into Zayn’s chest by naming what’s going on. Niall hums his agreement but doesn’t comment.

 

“I’m not, I’m  _not_. I just…” Zayn groans. “Okay so what if the married man you’re attracted to, is also the man you pledged to help save his marriage?”

 

“Are you – “

 

“Liam is  _Matt_.” A cacophony of confused noises, mostly from Bressie, and shocked gasps from Niall and Harry floods Zayn’s ear. “I swear I had no idea when I started writing to him but he wrote me a letter all about his café closing, and it was 100% him!”

 

“Oh my god, you have to tell him, Zayn!” Harry shouts in his ear.

 

“How long have you known?” Niall asks, voice tight like he’s gritting his teeth. Zayn hears him whispering, probably explaining to Bressie who they’re talking about.

 

“A day or so.” Zayn admits. “I meant to tell him the other day when I went to get him to sign the paperwork, Harry, but then Sophia showed up –“

 

“His wife showed up?” Niall and Harry say together. Bressie joining in with a quiet hum and a soft, “That’s heavy, Zayn.”

 

“Do you think they’re doing better?” Harry asks.

 

Bruce decides he wants more cuddles, and crawls up Zayn’s chest to sprawl half on his collarbone and wrap around his neck. Zayn lounges a little further so he can breathe, and sighs. “I don’t know. The last letter I got from him he was losing his café, and felt like he was going to lose her too once and for all – but I mean, he said he loved her when she was there – “

 

“Zaynie, maybe…you shouldn’t get involved anymore in this. He never has to know you were Aunt Mariam, and you can just not respond if he sends you any more letters.” Harry says, Niall agreeing with him.

 

Zayn looks down as much as he can with Bruce where he’s at, to the letter in his lap. “What if he already sent me one?”

 

“Don’t read it!” Niall says sharply.

 

“Did you already?” Bressie asks, and Zayn sighs.

 

“No, but I want to. But I shouldn’t, right? I shouldn’t respond…”

 

“I mean…Zayn we can’t tell you what to do, not really, but what do you think will happen?” Harry asks, voice doing that introspective quietness it does when he’s really thinking about something heavily. “If you read it, if Aunt Mariam responds – Liam obviously  _wants_  to stay with his wife, and he’s looking for someone to help him  _save_  his marriage. Are you that person?”

 

“Aunt Mariam is any person the readers need.”

 

“This stopped being an Aunt Mariam article the moment you responded privately, you know that.” Niall says firmly.

 

“She’s awful – “ Zayn starts to defend himself, feeling young and small in the eyes of his friends.

 

“That’s not for you to  _know_ , or judge, if you’re not going to one, admit your feelings and two, admit you’re Aunt Mariam.” Niall says, probably listing them off on his fingers.

 

“And both of those aren’t leading where you want them to go, Zayn. He’s married, and he  _wants_  to be.” Harry says.

 

“So you’re saying there’s no way he wants me back?” Zayn asks, voice verging on sharp and bitter, despite the fact that Harry’s only trying to help (and Zayn called them first).

 

“I’m not saying that – “

 

“That’s what it sounds like!”

 

“I’m just saying that I don’t want you to get hurt! If you’re going to be his  _friend_  then you can’t be Aunt Mariam, and you can’t have feelings for him.  You need to take a step back.” Harry commands sternly.

 

\--

 

So of course, Zayn does not take a step back, because he’s a fool for Liam, because he reads the letter. To his credit, he did try to avoid it, putting it in a file folder in his bag to take to work and shred, but Liam texted him around midnight with a smiley face talking about how one of the photos for EYD definitely had to include a batman suit. It was endearing, and sickeningly made him heart throb, and before he knew it he was ripping open the letter and devouring it.

 

“ _Dear Aunt Mariam,_

_That last letter was a bit dramatic looking, now that things seem like they’re going to be even better than before. My friend is helping me with getting the café more publicity and clientele, so maybe you’ll be seeing me in the news soon ;)_

_I don’t have very much to tell you since I’ve been so busy getting things together with my friend and the café, but…Sophia and I actually talked! I was shocked when she sat down and volunteered conversation, for what feels like the first time in months, and though we didn’t talk about the important things that we need to, it was nice. She asked about my friend, who she finally met, and she said that she was really glad the café wasn’t going under._

_She’s going away for a week for business, but she said when she gets back, that she wants us to really talk about things. I’m hoping that the next week or so will give me clarity on the situation? Help me prepare for talking it all out. I don’t want to be hurt or angry about anything she says, I just want to be open minded._

_You know I love her, and you know that I just want to fix things so I won’t bother saying it all again. Things seem like they’re moving onto a good path, I hope they stay on it._

_Thank you,_

_Matt_ ”

 

A week. A week before Sophia and Liam reconcile and have sex and talk about their problems and he forgets he ever even knew Zayn. A week for Zayn to enjoy being around Liam, and enjoy his smile. He doesn’t want to be hopeful, but maybe he  _can_  be more than Aunt Mariam, more than a friend. At least for a little while.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Liam,” Zayn says when he enters the café the next day. “Do you wanna go with me somewhere?”

 

“Um, where?” Liam asks, looking around the café like he might find the answer.

 

“The beach. Harry thinks we should get some candid shots of just you without the café.” Harry didn’t think a single bloody thing about that, in fact he’s going to be really annoyed when Zayn doesn’t show up to the office today but he’d made Louis promise not to tell them why he was using his time off.

 

“I can’t really just leave!” Liam laughs, looking excited but startled.

 

“Man, I think I can run this by myself.” Drake says, coming out of the back with boxes. Zayn’s actually surprised he’s here since he’s never seen more than one employee in at the same time since he discovered EYD. “Go with your boyfriend.”

 

“Drake,” Liam groans. “This is my friend Zayn.”

 

“Nice to meet you, man.” They slap hands casually, and Drake waves as he’s leaving towards the back again.

 

“I guess I could. Why the beach though?”

 

_Because I really want to see you with the ocean spray on your face, and sand between your toes, and hazy light of the sun through the clouds beaming down over your smile._

“Candid, and people love beach shots.”

 

“Okay! Well let’s stop at my flat first, I need some things.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so what should we listen to?” Zayn asks when they settle into his car, Liam’s arm dangerously close to his on the center console.

 

“I have a road trip playlist on my phone, you got a cord?” Zayn passes it to him where it’s hanging down by his calf, and merges onto the highway while Liam sets up the tunes. The first song that comes on is an old Fredo Starr song that Zayn almost doesn’t recognize he hasn’t heard it in so long.

 

“You like rap?”

 

“Yeah,” Liam laughs. “I probably don’t look much like I do though, huh? First time I played Biggie in the bakery Drake thought someone hacked our airplay.”

 

“I’m more into R&B myself but rap’s definitely the same sphere,” Zayn laughs. “Harry likes indie rock though so don’t ever let us DJ your party.”

 

“When’d you meet him? He’s a nice guy,” Liam says. “For writing the spread, right? On Espresso You Deserve.”

 

“Yeah, spread.” Zayn confirms. “I met Harry when I got this job, he’s been here a year longer than me. You’ve met him, he’s hard to not become friends with.”

 

Liam nods, and agrees, and something occurs to Zayn. If he’s not going to tell Liam about knowing he’s Matt, then he has to relearn everything he already knows or he might slip up and be caught. Which might be the only thing worse than telling Liam himself.  “How’d you meet your wife?”

 

As Liam tells him, a soft nostalgic smile across his face, Zayn tries to remember what Harry had said.

 

_Liam’s married, and he **wants**  to be._

 

* * *

 

 

“Haven’t been to the beach in ages, forgot how cold it gets right on the coast.” Zayn says once they’ve gotten out onto the sand, his shoes sinking in and the sea breeze blowing blasting cold air at his face. He’s in a jacket but his neck’s exposed and his hands.

 

“Hmm, it’s beautiful though.” Liam hums, face more relaxed than Zayn’s ever seen it. He looks just as beautiful with the sea spray washing across his face and the wind blowing at his curls as Zayn had expected. They stand and take it all in a while longer before Zayn’s hands start to lose their circulation. He tries slapping and rubbing them together quietly because he doesn’t want to ruin their beach day but Liam turns around where he’s just at the edge of the water and his eyes go wide.

 

“Oh god, you’re practically turning blue.” Liam’s hands, warm and soft from the deeply lined pockets on his coat, wrap around Zayn’s and rub, sending little shock waves up Zayn’s numb arms. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back? It’s a little chillier than I expected.”

 

Liam’s standing close enough to him that he can smell his cologne, and the distinct fresh sent of bread. He always smells like a hint of cinnamon. Zayn wants to curl up into his warmth and never leave, take a nap against his chest.

 

He doesn’t know if its psychosomatic or if Liam’s just a natural healer, but the feeling starts coming back into his fingers and he feels good enough to stay.

 

“Let’s keep walking. It’ll keep you warmer.” Liam offers, letting go of Zayn’s hands slowly, rubbing his thumb deep into the tendons in Zayn’s palms one more time. They stroll through the sand, Zayn mindful of how close he stands, desperately wanting to hold Liam’s hand but not wanting to push too hard. He’s already feeling incredibly lucky to be here, alone on this peaceful empty beach with Liam. No wives, no work, no letters – just he and Liam.

 

The clouds roll in without a show, Zayn only noticing once the first drop has hit his nose. “Oh shit, I think it’s about to storm. We should probably go.”

 

Like God himself was listening, and is now getting a good laugh, the clouds open up abruptly and drop seemingly the entire ocean on them. Liam burst out laughing, throwing his head back and grasping his stomach, probably at the shocked look on Zayn’s face as his hair flattens to his forehead. They take off running as fast as the sand will allow, Zayn catching Liam when he nearly falls flat on his face, the both of them stumbling and laughing hysterically as the rain continues to pour.

 

They get back to Zayn’s car after several minutes, completely soaked through. Zayn cranks the heat as they shiver in their clothes, and pulls out of the beach’s parking lot, both hands on the wheel as the wind blows violently. “This is a bad storm. Maybe we should find somewhere to stay and wait it out.” Liam says, something like fear and worry in his voice.

 

Zayn has to concede that this is pretty bad, the rain coming down in a solid sheet so opaque he can’t see over the hood of his car. “Google a motel or something, we can change out of these clothes and get warm.”

 

Liam’s already on it apparently, rattling off directions that Zayn has to squint and hope to follow as the rain continues, not letting up for even a minute. They screech into a motel’s parking lot, the vacancy sign glowing pink through the hazy wind and rain. “Ready to run?” Zayn asks, a big grin splitting his face, there’s this bouncing high adrenaline coursing through his veins that only increases when Liam smiles back at him and nods, jumping out of the car. Zayn grabs his backpack just before he goes and runs, shoes splashing through large puddles, till he’s in the lobby.

 

“Here’s your room key.” The front girl is saying to Liam when Zayn comes panting in, and Liam wiggles the key chain at him with a wink. The girl gives them a suspicious look but Zayn barely even notices, Liam taking him by the wrist, the both of them stumbling down the hall, laughing the entire way like being rained on is the best joke.

 

Zayn feels high off of Liam’s presence, like just seeing his smile is enough to send Zayn spiraling off into the moonlight. Outside their room, he can hear thunder and the rain coming down heavily but the room is quiet and warm, and Liam rests panting against the door with his hair just barely starting to curl. Zayn can’t help himself.

 

He drops his backpack on the bed, laughing one more time softly. “Well, I’ll admit maybe I should have checked the weather report a little closer before taking you out on this adventure.”

 

“That’s okay,” Liam says, eyes bright behind his long lashes. Zayn moves in till they’re breathing in each other’s space, nothing but the slight light from the window brightening the room. Just enough to see the highs of Liam’s face, the white of his teeth, the twinkle in his eye. Just enough to see the slight curl of chest hair through the unbuttoned top of his shirt, and the dull red blush to his cheeks. “You didn’t get any pictures though.”

 

Liam’s voice is breathy, and Zayn can feel the short puffs of air his words put out roll across his face. He’s too close, he can smell the cinnamon again, and he can feel Liam’s warmth, and he can practically taste the residue of salt water on Liam’s lips. He’s _married_ , Zayn reminds himself, but that barely seems to matter when he’s arching off the door towards him. “No,” Zayn says belatedly, realizing he’d completely forgotten to keep up the façade.

 

“It’s okay though, just means we’ll have to go back, right?” Liam’s not looking at him like he’s planning on going back to the beach, but more like he wants to touch him. Zayn’s not been a monk since Gigi, he’s always had a healthy sex drive, but he’s _never_ wanted to feel someone against him like he does Liam.

 

“Come on.” Zayn whispers, voice dropping as he invades Liam’s space, resting one elbow against the door by his head. He’s not sure what he’s saying, or what he wants, or even if he should want something but his morals have gone offline. All he knows is Liam’s in front of him, in the dim hazy light of this warm safe haven, gazing at him like he’s the only person in the entire world.

 

“Zayn,” Liam gasps, mouth so close to Zayn’s that when he speaks their lips brush. “Come on then.”

 

The world must stop, because Zayn can’t hear anything besides the rushing of his heart and the little whimper that leaves Liam’s mouth when they kiss. He can’t feel anything besides the soft gentle skin of Liam’s waist and back where his hands slip under his wet shirt, besides the dry drag of their lips and the wet touch of Liam’s tongue.

 

He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know a Sophia or a Mariam or a Harry, he doesn’t know anything but Liam’s lips on his, and arms around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i realized i had them bring negasonic and then realized i'd forgotten to like,,, keep her with them so i just removed her entirely for now.


	6. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zayn goes home, and liam leaves home.

**_The human touch is that little snippet of physical affection that brings a bit of comfort, support, and kindness. It doesn’t take much from the one who gives it, but can make a huge difference in the one who receives it. - Mya Robarts_ **

 

“Zayn, _Zayn_ ,” Liam whispers, hands sliding across Zayn’s neck and down his arms till they push at his biceps. His mouth lingers on Zayn’s, pulling away reluctantly and softly like it’s not a loss either way. “We can’t do this.”

 

Zayn wants to say “Yes we can”, or even better not talk at all and keep kissing right away, but instead he lets Liam move back and push him away. It hurts, sort of like tearing off a fresh scab, because he’s just gotten to know the taste of Liam’s mouth and he’s already lost it. “I know…” He concedes, moving away and running his hand through his drying hair. He’s going to look awful once they finally leave here, and his wet clothes are starting to get very uncomfortable.

 

“Maybe we should just go…” Liam finally says after several silent moments, voice tense. When Zayn looks at him, he notices that Liam’s buttoned up his shirt completely, and tucked it into his wet jeans. Like if he looks like a waiter, he and Zayn won’t have kissed.

 

“It’s still pouring out.” Zayn says, sweeping open the curtain to reveal the streaming wall of rain. “Don’t worry, I…I won’t kiss you again, I promise.”

 

“I trust _you_.” Liam blurts. “It’s me, I don’t.”

 

“You love your wife, just remember that.” Zayn says sadly, his heart aching in a way he hasn’t felt since Gigi broke up with him, but multiplied by a thousand. He’s fallen, hasn’t he? He’s always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, practically handing it out to people like free samples, and now he’s gone and given it to a married man who doesn’t want it.

 

“I do.” Liam whispers, and Zayn turns to look at him again. Liam looks torn, confused, like a man who has just been given some terrible news and doesn’t know what to do with it. Zayn can’t tell him what to do with it, he realizes, not even Aunt Mariam could tell him.

 

“We’re staying; I’m going to shower. I have a spare shirt in my backpack you can put it on if you want.” Liam waves him away, sitting down on the bed, so Zayn goes to the bathroom and locks the door. He’s ashamed that there’s still arousal in his veins, his dick still very interested in what they’d been doing just a short while ago. Six more days till Sophia is back, and Zayn’s already destroyed any idea that he and Liam could spend those days as friends.

 

He jerks off in the shower quickly and quietly because his body won’t calm down, not knowing Liam’s on just the other side of the door. When he’s dried off as much as possible and in his trousers, which he’d tried to squeeze as much water out of as possible, he goes back out into the room. Liam’s curled up on his side under the comforter, just the peek of a bare shoulder visible besides his head.

 

“Liam? Do you need the bathroom?” Zayn asks, rifling for the shirt in his bag and pulling it on. His pants are still uncomfortably wet but maybe if he sits in front of the heater they’ll dry faster.

 

“Why did you kiss me?” He asks, voice barely radiating past the blankets. It’s obvious he’s been in deep thought since Zayn went into the bathroom.

 

Zayn sits down on the bed, staring at the landscape painting on the wall. “Because I wanted to.”

 

He feels Liam sit up but he doesn’t turn around, Liam’s voice reverberating against his back like a whip. “I’m _married_.”

 

“Hey,” Zayn snaps lightly. “You kissed me too, okay? Maybe you shouldn’t be asking me, maybe you should be asking _yourself_.”

 

“I don’t need to; I know that I love my wife.”

 

“Yeah yeah, _blue flowers,_ I know.” Zayn wants to leave so badly, he wants to be alone and regroup, in his quiet flat with just Bruce taking up space no one else.  In this moment, even as he knows its not the truth, he wishes that maybe he’d never met Liam, never got that first letter from Matt.

 

“What?” Zayn doesn’t register the shock in Liam’s voice at first, so buried in his own regret and freezing up under the pressure, so he shrugs.

 

“I get it, she’s the love of your life. You told me all about it in the car.” Zayn stands up, going to his bag and rifling through it to see if he brought his spare pair of socks with him. He doesn’t really care if he has to wear his bare shoes later, he just needs something to do with his hands.

 

“I never said anything about the blue _flowers_.” Liam’s voice has become tinged with enough betrayal and weary fear that Zayn turns to look back at him. He’s shuffled up towards the head board, eyes wide and mouth ajar. “Who are you? Are you – “

 

“I didn’t – “ Zayn starts, realizing that shit’s hit the ceiling without him noticing, horror bleeding through his veins. Liam gasps, eyes wet with shock.

 

“That’s why you didn’t say what you write for the magazine.” He says, cutting Zayn off firmly, nodding to himself. “Is this some sick journalism gig for you? Am I your next big story?” Liam throws away the blanket revealing that he’s only in his pants, and he stands up angrily pulling on his jeans.

 

“What?” Zayn asks, honestly feeling baffled by everything that’s going on. He can’t keep up, too much has happened within the last few days, within the last few minutes. “No! No, I’m – “

 

“You’re _Aunt Mariam_ , aren’t you? Be _honest_.”

 

“Okay, yes!” Zayn exclaims, throwing up his hands. “But I had no idea you were writing to me when I met you, I only realized a couple days ago when you sent the letter about the café! I swear, Liam.”

 

“I’m supposed to believe you!? God, what am I doing?” He seems to talk to himself, pulling at his hair and speaking to the ceiling. “I’m in a bloody motel with a man I barely know, _kissing_ a man I barely know!”

 

“Well I mean; I think I know you fairly well – “

 

“Yeah, you know _me_ because I poured my soul out to you. But who are _you_ , Zayn?” Liam snaps, his words like a punch to Zayn’s gut. “Who are you? What’s your family like? What do you want to be writing? Why did you even _respond_ to me?”

 

“I can answer that last one easily, you _needed_ me.” Zayn says. “Your wife is terrible, Liam, and you know what? You _know_ that!”

 

“Don’t you dare talk about Sophia!”

 

“Why not? I know all about the shitty stuff she’s put you through, and I know you got Negasonic to spite her, and I _know_ that you can sit here all day if you want to, talking about blue flowers and about how much you love her – but neither of you are in love anymore!”

 

“Oh, you’re such an expert on love, you know everything about it, right because you write an _advice column_?”

 

“No,” Zayn says, voice losing all of it’s steam. Liam deflates, the angry puff to his chest fading. “I know because I’m in love with _you_. Because my last girlfriend told me I couldn’t open up, couldn’t trust anyone but I’m here…in this stupid motel room with a man I barely know, a man that I care about more than anyone that’s not my family.”

 

Liam’s mouth hangs open but no words come out. He’s holding onto his wet jacket, drops of water dripping to the floor, but he doesn’t move. Zayn shrugs, skin crawling with the heavy tension in the room. “I know about love because I would give my left hand to help you keep your café because I know how much it means to you, and because when I met Sophia, I couldn’t _imagine_ how she felt out of love with you. I know because I think you could love me too, if you wanted, if you tried.

 

If you let yourself admit you don’t love her anymore.”

 

Liam still doesn’t say anything, and Zayn’s heart breaks just a little, around the edges, at the seams where it’s been broken before. He sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “I should go. You can keep the room, I have, uh, some cash for you to get a taxi home.” He digs in his backpack for his wallet and pulls out a couple twenties. He tosses them on the bed. “I…wanted to tell you that I was Aunt Mariam, I was going to the moment I knew, but I was scared that you wouldn’t trust me afterwards. I was scared that I was already in too deep, and that if I blurred those lines, stopped playing Mariam, I’d just be even deeper.”

 

“Zayn…”

 

“Harry can take the interview and spread from here, he’s very professional, and very good to uh, work with. You’ll like him.” Zayn zips up his bag and shoves his feet into his shoes despite how wet and uncomfortable it is. He’ll strip off all his outer layers in the car. “I…probably won’t come around Espresso You Deserve so um, good luck with everything. I really hope it works out, I mean that honestly.”

 

“Thank you.” Liam says, his voice heavy with emotions Zayn’s too tired to define. He nods awkwardly, trying to remember how to move his body in a direction that’s not towards Liam, and goes to the door. When his hand touches the knob, Liam’s voice cracks behind him. “I want you to know that…Mariam responding to me was the brightest thing in my life for awhile there.”

 

It’s still a goodbye, still an end to a very short-lived story, but it sews up an abused loose end in his chest anyway. “I’m glad.” Zayn says, giving Liam a smile that wavers at the edges, but passes. Liam doesn’t smile back, and Zayn leaves, walking through the rain numbly to the car.

 

* * *

 

“What’s a word for to like figure out on your own without help?” Zayn asks, wheeling backwards so he can look into Niall’s cubicle. Niall hums and looks off to the ceiling, but before he can answer, Harry’s head pops over the wall, frowning, and he says, “Deduce.”

 

“That works, I guess.” Zayn shrugs, not sure how well it actually fits but he doesn’t really care anymore. “Thanks, Harry.”

 

“You’re not going to ask about the EYD spread? It drops tomorrow.” Harry’s of course referring to the fact that the entire magazine goes out tomorrow, with several more spreads and articles and columns in it than just the EYD spread. Zayn’s trying not to think about how it’s been five days since the fall out with Liam, five days since he’s had a decent espresso drink, five days since he learned exactly how Liam sounds when he’s kissing someone. He’s tried to avoid Harry, and his work, and his desk completely for that reason. Telling absolutely no one what happened at the beach that day seems to work best for his sanity, so he just told Harry to take the reins and went back to his actual job.

 

“You haven’t been very interested in it at all, have ya?” Niall asks, giving Zayn a suspicious look. “Liam’s going to save his café and you don’t even seem like you care, Zayn.”

 

In actuality, Zayn’s been leaving very good, very sporadic Yelp reviews for EYD the last week under several names with different stories each time. He’s also been closely reading the snippets he begs Louis to send him, Louis having surprisingly become his closest confidante in this situation. Unlike Harry and Niall, Louis isn’t really in on the entire mess, nor is he as pushy when it has nothing to do with him, so he sends Zayn pieces he’s edited and shuts his mouth.

 

“I care.” He says, though there’s not much vehemence to his tone. “I’m just busy with work.” He holds up a stack of letters, which have all been boring him to tears lately. Ever since ‘Matt’, he hasn’t been able to focus on anyone’s problems or writing. He’s sad to admit it but he’s written up a format letter, which he fills in with some details and a little bit of advice and sends to Louis for editing. Maybe it’s time he genuinely starts sending out resumes, before Louis fires him for real. He’d deserve it this time.

 

“Just thought you’d care a little bit more.” Harry sniffs, looking like he’s working himself into a right snit, either because he’s come to care about Liam or because his work is going unappreciated, Zayn doesn’t know.

 

He disappears back behind his desk without another word and Zayn sighs in relief.

 

“Did something happen?” Niall asks, wheeling himself out and into Zayn’s cubicle. His expression is soft, and reminds Zayn of his Mum, who he really should go home and visit soon because he could use the real thing. He’s dying for home cooked food and a hug from each of his sisters.

 

“Nothing happened, I’m fine.”

 

“Yeah, because when people say they’re fine, they always mean it.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Did you tell Liam?”

 

Trust Niall to hit the issue somewhat on the head. Zayn shakes his head, avoiding Niall’s eyes. “Nah, but he found out anyway.”

 

“Yikes, sorry Zayn. Assume he didn’t take it well?” Right again.

 

“Not really, no.”

 

“You need a pint?” Zayn chuckles at how perfectly Niall that solution is, and shakes his head.

 

“Think I’m going to go home, actually.” He says, deciding right then on the spot. He could use some Bradford, use some normalcy.

 

“Well that sounds good, get out of this city for awhile – it’d do us all some good.” Niall claps him on the back and wheels away, disappearing into his cubicle. Zayn watches him go despondently, and looks back to his computer where the blinking cursor on his recent response mocks him. He can’t focus, he’s frozen in a role he used to embody in his sleep, Aunt Mariam’s fingers crossed.

 

He scoops up his keys, and turns off his computer. “I’m heading out early, lads. Good luck, Harry…with the uh, spread.” Zayn calls, the only recognition that he’s been heard is Harry’s hand coming up above the cubicle wall curled into a thumbs up. It’s rather sarcastic, and irks Zayn since Harry doesn’t know the entire story anyway (and _his_ friend) but he ignores it and heads down the hallway. Louis is exiting his office when Zayn passes and he stops him with a hand to the chest.

 

“Leaving early?”

 

“Going into the _field_.” Zayn lies so he won’t have to use his PTO, even though by the quirk of Louis’ smile he catches the lie easily.

 

“Hmm, your writers block end then?” Louis asks, arms crossing sarcastically across his chest.

 

“Yep, all better.”

 

“Good.” Louis obviously wants to say something else, but he just smirks and Zayn’s not in the mood for a game. He strides past Louis, throwing a hasty goodbye over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s not a stalker, at least he doesn’t mean to be, but his feet bring him to Espresso You Deserve anyway. The clientele is already way up since Harry mentioned it briefly on a TV segment he’d done recently, the tables mostly full when Zayn peeks in the window. He can see Liam behind the counter, laughing with a customer, and he feels voyeuristic.

 

He shouldn’t be here; he shouldn’t be watching. He absolutely cannot go in there, not when Sophia gets back tomorrow and Liam’s stopped all contact with him. _Do not push it, Zayn_.

 

This time he listens to his own advice and jogs past the café and the entire way to the tube, heart pounding in his chest from something more painful than exertion.

 

When he gets home he packs a quick bag, and Bruce into his travel carrier, and sets off immediately. He doesn’t stop to shower, he doesn’t stop to change, he doesn’t stop to eat; he just drives – music as loud as is comfortable for Bruce to sleep and his foot on the accelerator.

 

By the time he gets home it’s late, and he pulls into the driveway of his childhood home behind his Dad’s car. The lights in the living room were already on when he pulled up, but now the outside porch’s light flicks on and he sees the front door open. “Zain?” His Mum calls, hand over her eyes to peer into the shadow where he’s pulling Bruce out of the car.

 

“Hey, Mum.” Zayn greets, waving tiredly, his voice wavering with the few shameful tears he shed during the drive. He feels wrung out and put away wet, and when his Mum runs out through the wet grass to hug him, he nearly collapses in her arms. She smells like her soft perfume, and roti, and somewhat like laundry detergent and he breathes it in, letting it ease his soul.

 

He hears Doniya’s voice excitedly exclaim his name from the doorway and then he has another warm presence at his back. Two more join them, all of the women in his life cuddled around him on the pavement, under the drizzling rain.

 

Then he feels the firm press of his Dad’s palm to the back of his head, probably the only place he can even reach with his sisters and Mum hugging him so tightly, and something slots into place in his chest. All the aching, and longing he’s felt the last week for Liam doesn’t go away, but it’s absconded, at least momentarily, by the love he has for his family. That’s more than good enough.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve gotten skinny again, Zayn.” His Mum says, handing him a bowl of food and ushering him towards the sofa, where Waliyha is curled up under a quilt watching a movie. “I told you I’d make you meals to microwave if you’re not going to feed yourself, habibi.”

 

“I’m okay, Mum, I cook.”

 

“Are you here then because you burned down your flat?” Doniya laughs, poking him in the side and almost making him spill soup all over Wali. “Since you _cook_.”

 

“Haha, she’s hilarious. Mum, you have a hilarious daughter.” Zayn deadpans, poking Doniya back just under the ribs where it tickles. She slaps his hand away and gets up to sit in the armchair next to Dad’s. Dad looks at the two of them over his newspaper, looking endeared and wearied at the same time.

 

“It’s true, though, remember when you tried to make microwave mac and cheese and blew the door off.” Saaf points out, coming into the room and curling up on the carpet at Zayn’s feet, her head against his knee.

 

“I forgot to take the fork out, it’s a simple mistake.” He laughs, defending himself weakly.

 

“Everyone stop teasing Zayn, or he won’t come home and visit for months.” His Mum says, shooting him a pointed look when he opens his mouth, and he shuts it promptly. He hasn’t been home in awhile, especially since Gigi hadn’t gotten along with his sisters when they met for the first, and last, time.

 

“Everyone shush, and eat.” Dad urges, sipping at his chai, and Zayn shoots him a thankful smile when everyone shushes and leaves him alone. Dad smiles back warmly, obviously happy to have a little peace and quiet. Safaa shows Zayn a meme on his phone that makes him laugh, and he ignores that his first thought is that Liam would probably laugh too.

 

\--

 

“You warm enough?” Mum asks when she’s tucking him into the guest bed, even though he’d vehemently said he could do it himself, and that he wasn’t a child anymore. She fluffs the pillow under his head and runs her hand over his forehead like she used to when he was younger and she was checking for a fever. “You look so pale, baby, you have to take care of yourself when I’m not around to do it.”

 

“I’m trying, Mum.” He whispers, taking his Mum’s wrist and pulling her to sit down on the bed, his head falling into her lap naturally. She runs her fingers through his hair softly.

 

“What’s wrong, jaan? You haven’t been home in months, you’re pale, you barely call anymore – “ His Mum cuts off, and Zayn nuzzles into her stomach, wishing he was still a little kid.

 

“I did something kind of bad,” He admits barely audibly.

 

His Mum’s hand pauses imperceptibly and then she’s sliding down the bed till they’re face to face, her hand cradling his cheek. Mum and he used to do this all the time when he was younger, talking through all his young worries, and her telling him little made up stories before he’d fall asleep. Back then he’d been much smaller though, and had a race car bed she hadn’t really fit in.

 

“What did you do? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

 

“It is.” Zayn argues, shaking his head before burying it half under his blanket. It’s almost worse hearing his Mum excuse him.

 

“Tell Mum what happened.” She whispers, pulling the blanket away enough to look him in the eye. “I won’t judge, I promise.”

 

He’s silent, chewing over how to phrase it. “I kissed a guy.” That doesn’t sound bad obviously, his Mum knows he’s bisexual, but he almost can’t force the words “ _who is married_ ” past his lips.

 

“Okay…is this about Gigi?” Mum asks, sounding a little uncomfortable saying her name. She hadn’t openly disliked her as much as Doniya, who had hated her proudly, but she hadn’t exactly invited her back for another visit. “It’s been months Zayn you’re allowed to move on.”

 

“No, no it’s not really about me. I mean it is, but – “ He doesn’t know how to say it all, doesn’t know where to begin, so he goes to the heart of the problem. “He’s married, Mum.”

 

She doesn’t stop stroking his hair, which soothes his anxiety enough for him to breathe. “Did you know that when you kissed him?”

 

“Yeah,” He admits.

 

“And you know that it’s wrong, for both of you, right? He’s at fault too.” He nods again, he knows it was wrong, wrong timing, wrong situation. He should never have done it knowing that they weren’t on even ground with the Aunt Mariam situation either, but he had.

 

“Then why did you do it?” She asks, not sounding like she’s judging, but honestly inquiring.

 

He knows why, he told Liam why. But love doesn’t justify doing bad things, he should have controlled himself, he should have told Liam everything before things ever got that far.

 

“I was selfish, and avoiding things.” Zayn says, realizing how true it is when it’s laid out in front of him. “I didn’t _want_ him to be married so I just…pretended he _wasn’t_ for the moment. I was weak.”

 

“Humans were created weak, and we learn slowly.” She whispers, her voice lapsing into that tone it takes when she’s talking about something from the Quran. “This is just an opportunity to learn, Zayn.”

 

“He hasn’t talked to me since it happened, Mum. I miss him.” She pulls his head into her bosom, his ear flat against her sweater where he can hear her heartbeat.

 

She doesn’t say anything, perhaps knowing that there’s nothing she can say to make it better. She just hums a prayer against his hair, and he falls asleep in her arms, letting himself just dream peacefully without any worries, or cares or thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

Zayn wakes up befuddled and rumpled what feels like 17 hours later, but probably is more like two am, and rolls around under the blanket till he finds his phone tucked under a pillow. It vibrates a reminder that he’s received a text while he rubs his eyes blearily.

 

When he can finally focus on the text, he sits straight up at the sight of Liam’s name. “ **Where are you?** ” He’s shocked enough to see Liam speaking to him, and with such a strange text, that he presses the dial button immediately.

 

“Liam?” Zayn asks, whispering so he won’t wake his family up through the walls. There’s silence on the other side of the line for a moment before he hears someone sniffle wetly, and Liam says his name. “Are you okay?”

 

He’s up and getting dressed before he even realizes it, shoving his pajamas into his suitcase and scooping Bruce up from the bed. He puts Bruce into his travel carrier gently, phone squeezed between his head and shoulder. “Liam, talk to me, are you okay? Are you somewhere safe?”

 

“I’m at your flat. Got the address from Harry, I’m sorry.” Liam’s voice is choked up and he hiccups on each word, sounding like he’s crying steadily.

 

“Why are you at my flat, babe?” Zayn asks gently, confused as to what’s going on but knowing that he has to get back as fast as possible. Liam hasn’t talked to him in days; he honestly hadn’t thought Liam would ever talk to him again so for him to ask Harry for Zayn’s address and show up there in the middle of the night? Something’s wrong.

 

Liam doesn’t respond, his breathing growing heavier and more choked over the line. “I’m coming home, okay? I’m in Bradford so it’ll be like four hours but…um, there’s a key okay? Liam, are you listening?”

 

“Yes, yeah, I’m – I’m listening.”

 

“Okay, there’s a brick at the bottom of the wall next to my door. It’s loose, and there should be a key inside.” He hears shuffling on Liam’s side and the distinct, distant sound of two bricks rubbing together.

 

“Got it.” Liam sniffs.

 

“You can go inside, get some sleep, alright? I’ll be there soon.”

 

“I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this, Zayn, I can just – I can go somewhere else, you’re probably busy with your family – “

 

“I’ll be home in 4 hours.” Zayn says firmly. “Don’t go anywhere.”

 

“I won’t.” Liam says softly, and Zayn hangs up reluctantly, grabbing his bag and Bruce’s carrier and ducking out of the guest room. His Mum is standing in the hallway in her robe, arms crossed and expression worried.

 

“Zaynie, is everything okay?” She asks, and Zayn shakes his head immediately.

 

“No, I um, I gotta go back to the city, Liam needs me.”

 

“Liam’s the one you kissed then?” Mum asks just as Dad comes out of their room, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking surprised to see the two of them in the hall.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Zayn’s going back to London.” Mum informs him, her hand resting gently on his Dad’s forearm. The two of them standing there, so at ease with each other makes Zayn even more determined to get back to the city, back to Liam.

 

“Are you okay to drive? It’s late.” Dad says, peering down at his watch. “You should wait till morning.”

 

“It’s important, Dad. Lia- someone needs me.”

 

“Well, do you have gas money?” Dad asks, going back into his room for a second and coming back with his wallet. Zayn tries to shake his head and wave him off, he’s not doing very well for himself off an advice column’s pay but he has more than enough for gas money.

 

“I’m okay – “

 

“Here, take it. Be careful, okay? Drive slow.” His Dad folds twenty pounds into his palm and pats him on the cheek. “Come back to bed, Trisha, he’ll be okay.” His Mum gives him one last kiss on the cheek before they both go back into their room, Zayn taking off out to the car immediately, heart racing.

 

* * *

 

“Liam?” Zayn shouts when he gets to the flat hours later, the sun starting to come up and bleeding into his flat. He puts Bruce’s carrier down and opens it up, but he’s passed out asleep and doesn’t even get out. “Liam!”

 

“I’m here, I’m here.” Liam’s voice comes from down the hall, as he comes walking out of Zayn’s room rubbing his eyes. The first thing Zayn registers is that Liam’s in one of his hoodies, the bright yellow one Harry had bought for him from Disney Paris. He’s also in a pair of loose pajama pants, and his bare feet make soft sounds as they drag across Zayn’s floor. Liam looks soft, and comfortable, and Zayn can’t believe he’s here.

 

He can’t believe he’s real.

 

“What happened?” Zayn asks, dropping his backpack on the couch next to where Negasonic is curled up asleep. “Are you okay?”

 

“Physically, yeah.” Liam laughs darkly, looking down at the floor and both of their feet.

 

Zayn waits patiently for him to continue, not daring to get too close or touch him. It’s strange having him in his flat, but even stranger to see him so dull and sad. He doesn’t have his usual light to him and it worries at Zayn’s chest.

 

“Emotionally, not so much.” Liam sighs finally, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m sorry that I didn’t text you, or call you, and I’m sorry that I freaked out about the Aunt Mariam thing. Harry told me that you really didn’t know that long.”

 

“I should have told you the moment I realized.” Zayn says. “Can we sit? I’m kind of dead on my feet, mate.”

 

Liam chuckles though there’s no humor to his tone, and he gestures to the sofa which is pretty much taken completely up by Negasonic sprawled out on her back. “Sofa’s all taken.”

 

“We could lay on my bed.” Zayn offers, feeling uncomfortably like he’s propositioning Liam. “Nothing…sexual or anything, just I’m tired.”

 

Liam shrugs, and leads Zayn towards his own bedroom, crawling up onto Zayn’s mattress easily without any hesitation. Zayn pulls on a jacket, feeling cold and exposed in just a shirt with Liam in his bed. They lay down side by side, Liam curled up into himself on top of the comforter and Zayn on his back staring at the ceiling. “Um, did something happen with Sophia? She’s supposed to be home by now isn’t she?”

 

“How did – oh, almost forgot.” Liam frowns deeply, and Zayn whispers an apology so quiet he barely hears it himself. “She got in last night.”

 

“What happened?”

 

He hears Liam sniff wetly, and feels him move to rub at his eyes. “She wants a divorce.”

 

“Oh.” Zayn gasps, feeling his heart break for Liam. He’d wanted it so badly for himself, and objectively, he knew that it was for the best, but Liam’s voice was so distraught and he looked so small curled up next to Zayn sadly. “I’m sorry, Liam. I – “

 

“She said that she’s been wanting one for months; that she uh, doesn’t think we have much in common anymore, and that we got married too _young_ , and that she wants to try new things with _new_ people.” Liam’s voice breaks, and Zayn can see in the dim light that his face is crumpled in on itself, eyes squeezed shut tightly. Zayn wants to keep boundaries, wants to give Liam support without encroaching on his space, but he can’t just lay here and watch him be in so much pain.

 

“I’m so so sorry, Liam, you deserve better.” Zayn pulls Liam’s head onto his chest like his Mum had done to him earlier that night, stroking his fingers through Liam’s hair. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say to make this better, or if there’s anything that anyone can say, but it’s going to be okay.”

 

“I just…you _know_.  I really thought things were going to get better, I thought we were going to talk and we’d figure things out. I…”

 

“It’s not a bad thing to be optimistic, Leeyum.” Zayn scratches at Liam’s hairline gently, massaging his ear and trying to soothe the heart ache with as many soft physical touches as possible.

 

“It feels like it is.” Liam’s fingers tighten on Zayn’s t-shirt where they rest over his stomach. “How do you just fall out of love with someone? How do you want ‘ _new people_ ’?”

 

Zayn doesn’t know what to say to that, he can’t be Aunt Mariam when Liam’s crying on his chest, so he just stays quiet and lets Liam fall asleep on him. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do, or what Liam even wants – but he can just _be_ here and hold him.


	7. seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam's POV

He wakes up in the middle of the night unaware of his surroundings, flailing around in blankets that don’t feel familiar and staring into the pitch black darkness trying to place where he is. Only once he looks to his side, and sees Zayn just barely lit by the redness of his alarm clock, he remembers and figures out he’s been safely covered with a wool quilt. Zayn’s beneath the thicker comforter, not touching him which he’s frankly thankful for. He feels vulnerable, raw like he’s gotten a sunburn and the skin is beginning to shed, leaving new young skin underneath susceptible to the elements.

 

He’s certain, even in this tumultuous time, that Zayn’s not the type to take advantage of him, both while he’s asleep and while he’s vulnerable with Sophia’s news but he’s glad they’re not touching. It was tempting to cling to Zayn last night, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself – he’s just glad that he wasn’t able to do it while they slept.

 

Zayn looks young and tired next to him, face nearly obscured under the comforter and hair flattened into the pillow. The sight pulls at raw heart strings, seeing him so soft and gentle. He’s been mad at him, furious actually, all week – spending his hours at the café and lonely quiet time in the flat fuming about how Zayn had lied to him. About how Zayn had let him talk to him so earnestly, so foolishly trusting, when Zayn had already read it all in that week’s letter to Mariam.

 

He’d spent days after their…encounter, trying to figure out whether he’d ever known Zayn at all or if the entire thing had been some convoluted, Aunt Mariam charity case. Or some sick, twisted journalist privacy breach. Either way, Liam had cursed Zayn’s name for days.

 

But he doesn’t have the energy anymore to remain angry, he thinks as he rolls onto his back, staring blankly at the darkness of Zayn’s ceiling. Since Sophia came home, he hasn’t felt much of anything other than nearly all-consuming blanket of pain. It sounds dramatic, even to himself, but it’s the truth.

 

* * *

 

Yesterday, Liam cleaned the entire flat top to bottom and restocked the kitchen with groceries and deep-cleaned the bathroom like Sophia’s always asking him to do. When he’d finished all that, he’d gone for a run.

 

“Mom’s going to be home in a few hours.” Liam says to Negasonic when he collapses onto the grassy park hill after his run. She pants in his face, pawing at his hair still energetic even after running the entire three miles with him. She’s obviously oblivious to everything he’s saying. “We’re going to be on our best behavior, right? So Mom will be in a good mood.” No matter what Negasonic does, Sophia probably won’t like her, so he’s mostly talking to himself now.

 

His phone starts ringing from where it’s zipped in his jacket pocket, and he pulls it out. On the screen is the contact photo Harry had put in for himself several days ago on one of his first serious visits to the café, when they were starting to really work on the spread. Out of everything that’s happened recently, Liam’s still feeling very positive about the café’s future, most of which has definitely come from Harry.

 

“Hello, Harry.” Liam answers, voice still weak and winded from the run.

 

“Hey, Liam. How are you?” The thing Liam likes best about Harry Styles is that when he asks how you are; he genuinely wants to hear an answer. The first time Harry had come to the café alone and asked how he was, Liam had answered with a generic ‘Fine’ and ended up talking for fifteen minutes about how his dough wouldn’t proof that morning with Harry intently listening and commenting.

 

“I’m doing well, it’s my day off from the café today, and Sophia is due to get into the city in a couple of hours.” Liam crawls up from the ground, taking Negasonic’s leash in his hand even though she’s gotten much better at staying with him and not running off. He starts off towards the car. “How are you doing?”

 

“I’m great, thank you.” He hears Harry typing, probably at his computer, which makes him think of Zayn, bitterness seeping in. He’d once quite liked the idea of Zayn being a journalist, cute glasses perched atop his nose as he worked on a very important article with similar determination to Liam working on a soufflé. Now it’s not quite as endearing. “The spread if all ready to go tomorrow, Louis even said it was some of my best work.” Harry chuffs proudly.

 

“So I just wanted to call, check in…see how things are going.” Something in Harry’s tone shifts and seems off, like he’s suspicious, maybe, or questioning Liam. Like he wants to ask something specific but wants Liam to volunteer.

 

“Things are great.” Liam responds firmly, hoisting Negasonic into the backseat of his car. “Is there anything else?”

 

“Well, I just wanted you to know, obviously that if things aren’t great – now or you know, in the future, that I’m always here to offer an ear.” He swears he hears Harry mutter ‘that rhymes!’ in the pause, and frowns. “I would hope we’ve become something like friends, and I’m going to be frequenting Espresso You Deserve after the spread goes live.”

 

“Okay…That’s nice, Harry, thank you.” Liam says, settling into the front seat and gesturing for Negasonic to lie down in her bed. Harry hums thoughtfully, and there’s an awkward sort of silence that follows, filling the phone till Liam’s skin starts to crawl. Then Harry clears his throat.

 

“Did uh, something happen between you and Zayn? You know, just because he hasn’t really had much to do with the spread, and it was _his_ idea – “

 

“He’s probably far too busy with his _Aunt Mariam_ letters.” Liam says flatly, voice uncharacteristically sharp.

 

“Oh.” Harry says, mouth probably forming a perfect ‘o’ shape by the tone of his voice. “He told you then?”

 

“Kind of.” Liam replies, trying not to remember how lost and terrified he was when he’d realized Zayn had slipped up. In the short time they’d known each other Liam had come to trust him like family almost, going so far as to go on a road trip with him in the middle of a work day – that trust had been violently broken when Zayn had mocked the blue flowers. That was something Liam had always held very close to his chest, and knew he’d only divulged in the Aunt Mariam letters. To hear it roll off of Zayn’s tongue so casually, so carelessly, had shaken all the trust Liam had developed for him.

 

“Liam…” Harry starts speaking slowly, like he’s approaching an angry wild animal, and Liam can’t listen to any more right now.

 

“Harry, I have to go, I’m at the park with Negasonic, and I need to leave now or I’ll be late to pick up Sophia - ”

 

“I understand.” Harry says, cutting Liam’s rambling short. “I just, I told him to tell you, I knew this would blow up in all of our faces. He didn’t know for very long, Liam, I promise.”

 

“Well,” Liam shrugs, hands tight to the steering wheel. “The spread is fine without him, I’m _fine_.”

 

“Yeah.” Harry says, sounding weary “Alright, have a good day, and a safe trip.”

 

“Thanks, Harry.” Liam says, barely finished before the call ends and he’s pulling out of the park’s parking lot.

 

* * *

 

 

He picks up an expensive bouquet of big blue hydrangeas from the airports gift shop that are probably outrageously more expensive than they’d have been down the street before going to the terminal to meet Sophia. The extra several pounds seem fair though, seem like a cheap penance in the face of what he knows he has to do. All the cleaning and preparing aside, he knows he has to tell her about the kiss.

 

Something about Zayn’s actions, in hiding and lying about his identity (even for just a short while, if Harry’s to be believed) has made it even more clear that he can’t hide the kiss from Sophia. Even that one small act of infidelity sits heavily on Liam’s stomach, and he’s barely eaten the last several days thinking about how hurt Sophia will be. It’s only made worse by the fact that sometimes he wakes up from daydreams, or real dreams, thinking about the taste of Zayn’s mouth.

 

But that’s behind him, it’s all behind him, he reminds himself as people start exiting the plane’s terminal. He’s always aimed to fix his marriage, not end it, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to prove Zayn wrong; he and Sophia are very much still in love, even if their love doesn’t look quite the same as it did when they were younger.

 

She comes out in comfortable travel clothes, lounge pants, and Ugg boots, and a sweater he thinks might have used to been his. When he waves, she waves back – which feels optimistically like a good start. “Hello,” He says, giving her as warm of a one-armed hug as he can, and kissing her cheek. “These are for you.”

 

“Thank you, they’re lovely.” She sniffs the hydrangeas and smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Frantically, and irrationally, he feels like she can see the infidelity written across his face, like Zayn’s left lipstick on his collar.

 

“How was the flight?”

 

“It was good.”

 

They stay in quiet companionable silence all the way out of the airport, until Liam’s hoisted her suitcase into the trunk and they’re on their way. She turns on the radio, but it stays low and playing today’s top hits. Liam doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

 

It’s around half an hour to their flat, and they’re sitting in traffic when Liam turns off the radio. The entire drive his confession has been crawling up his spine, raking its slimy fingers through his hair. All he doesn’t want to think about is Zayn, but that’s all that comes to mind. His face, soft and intense in between kisses, their chest synchronized in breathing, his hands on Liam’s bare waist.

 

All Liam can hear is Zayn’s voice on the beach, in the motel room, telling Liam that he wasn’t in love with Sophia anymore, Zayn telling him that he’s in love with him. Zayn’s hoarse, emotion-roughened voice pleading with him to give him a chance.

 

“Sophia – “

 

“Liam – “

 

They both begin to speak at the same time, but neither of them laugh, the car tense as they creep along in traffic. “You go ahead.” Sophia offers, not looking at him but at the cars next to them out the window.

 

“I…I have to tell you something.” Liam says, both hands tight on the wheel like they’re doing 100 mph on an open road rather than the 10 they’re doing on the packed freeway.

 

“I have to tell you something too.” Sophia says softly.

 

“Did you want to go first?” Liam offers, palms sweating.

 

“No, no you can, go first.”

 

Liam clears his throat, wishing he’d thought to wait till they were actually home and not trapped in a car together, two feet of space between them. At least at home Negasonic could have acted as a sort of barrier. “What I’m going to say doesn’t change anything, okay? I _love_ you, and I want us to be happy again, and I want us to talk things through tonight and really start managing our time better so that this can _work._ ” He starts vaguely, waving a hand at Sophia anxiously before putting it back firmly on the wheel at two o’clock.

 

“Liam, just say whatever it is.” Sophia commands softly, looking at him now with a furrowed brow and deeply concerned eyes.

 

“I kissed someone. A man.” Liam admits quickly, like if he says the words fast enough they won’t cause any damage. A storm that only lasts a second doesn’t have time to destroy the houses, right? “It didn’t _mean_ anything.”

 

“Was it Zayn?” Sophia asks calmly, voice steady. She doesn’t seem surprised at all.

 

“Y-yes. It was, we uh, we went to the beach. And it stormed, and things kind of snowballed from there – um – “ He’s getting worked up, he can feel it in the tension of his neck and the sweat between his toes. He wants to turn on the air conditioner bizarrely even though it’s cold outside the car, but he feels like he’s on fire with nerves.

 

“It’s okay, Liam.” Sophia says, and everything nervous and antsy and worked up in Liam seems to stop and cool at once.

 

“What?” He asks, without thinking. “What do you mean it’s okay?”

 

“I mean, it’s alright – “

 

“It’s not alright! I kissed _someone else_! I kissed a man!” Liam nearly shouts, shocked that she’s not angry or yelling. There’s not a tear in sight on the horizon of her eyes, she’s completely resigned and calm whereas he’s nearly sweat through his undershirt by now.

 

“I don’t think it really matters what gender the person is, it’s still infidelity.” Sophia muses rationally, looking out the window again, rolling her phone around in between her palms.

 

“Exactly!” He shouts, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. “It’s infidelity! Why aren’t you horribly angry with me?”

 

“Because I seen it coming the moment I met Zayn.” All the energy, all the panic, melts out of Liam immediately and he nearly collapses into his seat as the traffic finally starts really moving.

 

“It meant _nothing_ , Sophia.”

 

“If it meant nothing, babe it wouldn’t have happened at all.” It’s so simple, it’s the least complex logic Liam’s ever heard but it sends his blood nearly ice cold with the implications. He’d been mad all week at Zayn, for kissing him, for saying such dishonest things about him and Sophia, for being Aunt Mariam and telling him he should try to fix his marriage while actively trying to destroy it as himself. But it hadn’t really occurred to him to think about what he did himself.

 

He’d urged Zayn on, for one. He’d kissed him back, for two. He could even be held liable for flirting during some of their initial meetings at the café, and for seeking him out for lunch, and for going to the beach with him alone. He’d put it all on Zayn, repressed any idea that he could be partially to blame too because he loved Sophia so it wasn’t his fault, he would never _choose_ to cheat on her.

 

But he had. He had chosen to kiss Zayn, and thinking about that motel room and the soft, hot flush to Zayn’s cheeks when he’d come out of the shower before their fight he would probably have done it again. If they’d stayed there that night, if he hadn’t found out about Aunt Mariam, he doubts he would have been able to keep his hands off Zayn.

 

That would have been a _choice_. It would have meant something.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Liam chokes on the words, overwhelmed by his actions, by his feelings. He’d never expected this to happen. “Please forgive me.” He doesn’t deserve it.

 

“I forgive you, Liam.” She says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “But I’m sorry too.”

 

“For what?” He asks, switching lanes as they get closer to their exit. He’s driving on autopilot, hands following familiar motions, eyes scanning the road without his brain needing to really focus.

 

“I was going to wait till we got home…” Sophia starts, bending down to her backpack on the footwell and unzipping it. “I…this is a bit harder than I’d imagined.” She pulls out a tan extra-large envelope, and unravels the little string keeping it closed. Inside, which she tips out into her lap, is a stack of paper and when Liam peeks over to read it, he almost crashes their car. Across the top in neat, governmental font are the words “PETITION FOR DIVORCE”, and he can see that some places on the top sheet have already been initialed or signed.

 

“You want a divorce.” Liam says, voice sounding emotionless and scary even to himself. He keeps his eyes firmly on the road, heading for the next exit even though it’s not their exit. It’s close enough, he just needs to get off the freeway right now.

 

“We tried, Liam. I tried for months to hold off but…” Sophia says, hand tracing across the paperwork. “Some things aren’t meant to last forever.”

 

* * *

 

After they get to the flat, most of the car ride after Sophia and his confessions’ spent in silence, Liam gathers some of his stuff into a backpack and Negasonic’s into another. “You really don’t have to leave, Liam. I can go to my sister’s if you don’t want to be around me.”

 

“No, no it’s…it’s mostly your flat. You keep it, I can bunk with a friend.” He knows Andy is out of town at the moment, and Max doesn’t like him coming over without three days’ notice at least, and Drake is closing the café tonight and going out with his girlfriend afterwards. But he doesn’t let Sophia know any of that, he’ll figure it out. He has to start figuring things out without her now.

 

“Liam, I know you – “

 

“Please, Soph.” Liam holds up a hand, cutting her off. “I…I can’t take any more tonight. Can we just not talk anymore?”

 

“Liam, you’re going to find someone else – “

 

“Please!” Liam begs, grabbing his bag and swinging it onto his back. He scoops up Negasonic from where she’s sleeping on the sofa. “I didn’t want anyone else! I wanted _you_.”

 

“You _had_ me! And we made each other miserable!” Sophia shouts, burying her face in her hands right after the words escape her mouth. She sighs, and meets his gaze with red eyes. “I need something _new_ , Liam, I need new people, and new experiences, and so do you.”

 

“I don’t want new.” Liam refuses, heading for the door, his chest split open and spilling behind him. Every nerve feels raw, the synapses in his mind replaying her words, bouncing “new” and “divorce” all around him. It’s only made worse by the cleanly polished floors and the earnestly bought bowl of fruit, by how badly he’d wanted to fix things, by how much he’d _actually_ believed despite his infidelity, despite their fighting they could fix their marriage.

 

“Maybe.” Sophia says, following him to the door. “But you need it.”

Once he’s through the door he pauses, Negasonic curled in his arms and snuffling against his neck now that she’s mostly woken up. “I loved you.” Liam whispers brokenly, eyes scanning Sophia’s face for any sign that she loves him back, or ever loved him at all.

 

She bites her lips, and nods absently. “Liam…I’ll email you when we have our first mediation meeting.” She shuts the door slowly, head turned down till the last thing Liam sees is a glimpse of her hair and shoulder before the door closes.

 

* * *

 

At first he and Negasonic sit on the tube riding it up and down the tracks blankly, his pup standing up at all the stops like she’s wondering what they’re doing. He’s only slightly frozen, knees weak where he sits at the back of the train car, trying to figure out where to go. He could get a hotel room, but the idea of being alone like that makes his stomach flip.

 

He could impose on Drake, but that seems almost worse than being sad alone. Having Drake see him crying and heartbroken, and forcing him to give up time with his girlfriend to do so? Humiliating.

 

Liam gets off at the stop he uses to get to work after several rides, and Negasonic and him trail the streets slowly. The sun still high in the sky. He goes into work, letting Negasonic sleep in his office.

 

He gives Max the rest of the day off numbly, smiling to customers like his heart isn’t breaking in front of them, serving drinks with a cheerful voice like it’s not the exact opposite of how he feels. It’s easier somehow, to focus on other people, to pretend like he’s not sad. While his hands are busy counting out change, and making drinks, and bagging pastries, he doesn’t have to think about the duffel bag in his office or how he’s officially homeless.

 

Liam closes the café that evening an hour early, and takes Negasonic for a hot dog in the park. He bites a piece, gives her a piece, and so on till it’s gone. His eyes are dry; his lips are firm. He’s not going to cry; he’s not going to break.

 

It’s not until Liam gets a text from Harry, with the prospective cover of the magazine featuring Espresso You Deserve, that he cracks.

 

He breaks down, all the emotions he managed to hold at bay throughout the half day of work bursting through the dam he’d built.

 

* * *

 

After he’s sobbed himself dry on a park bench, and feels suitably tired and embarrassed, he texts Harry asking for Zayn’s address. He shouldn’t, he knows that. He should leave Zayn alone, let him be free from all this, especially after what happened between them.

They’re not even really _friends_ , Liam thinks to himself as he and Negasonic board the tube again headed to Zayn’s flat, they never had the time to get there. Maybe they could have been, maybe before they’d kissed or before Liam had waxed poetic about his failing marriage in all those letters. Maybe in another universe Liam wasn’t married when Zayn first came into the café and flirted with him, maybe Zayn told him he wrote for an advice column off the bat and they’d spend afternoons coming up with cutesy advice together.

 

All these maybes, but all Liam knows is that the only person he can feasibly imagine being around right now is Zayn. Friends, not friends, lovers, not lovers – nothing will be as soothing and grounding as the sound of his voice right now.

 

* * *

 

Liam’s not sure where he’s going when he crawls out of Zayn’s bed, careful not to jostle anything and wake him. Negasonic is curled up on the floor, and her head pops up when she hears him. “Shh, come on, baby.” He whispers, snapping his fingers lightly so she’ll follow him out of the bedroom. He shuts the door gently so Zayn can continue to sleep.

 

Negasonic barks, once and quietly like she knows they’re trying to let someone sleep, so Liam goes to his bag where he’s shoved a big ziplock bag of her food into one of the pockets. He pours it into a bowl from Zayn’s cabinet and searches for coffee. He remembers halfway through guiltily rifling through one that Zayn doesn’t much like coffee, that Liam was starting to change that with the café’s espresso machine.

 

“Hey…” Liam nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Zayn’s voice, spinning around to look down the hall where Zayn’s coming towards the kitchen. “Slept good?”

 

“Yeah.” Liam responds, grabbing a box of tea bags at random. “Thank you, for letting me stay.”

 

“Course.” Zayn shrugs, coming up besides Liam to help with the tea. He fills a mug with water and pops it into the microwave, deftly pressing the buttons to send it spinning on the plate inside. Liam fills up the next one, preparing for it to go in next, and getting out two bags of tea for them both. “So…you have a plan for the day?”

 

“Max is opening the café.” Liam says, not mentioning that he’s opening it because Liam had intended to spend most of the day with Sophia. Negasonic rubs at his legs before wrapping herself around Zayn’s ankle. He kneels down to rub and scratch at her neck, ruffling her fur and kissing between her eyes. “I might go in and help out. Look over the books.”

 

“That’s a good idea.” Zayn says, handing him a mug with a slowly seeping tea bag in it. “But I sorta meant _overall_. I don’t know if you’re going back to your flat, but by the look of the duffel, probably not?”

 

“I…” Liam shrugs. “I should probably start looking for a place of my own now that Sophia’s got the flat. I won’t intrude on you anymore; I can go to Drake’s – “

 

“It’s not intruding.” Zayn says suddenly, cutting him off. “I have a guest room…it’s small but it’s mostly just holding some of the rubbish I don’t have a place for. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind Negasonic either.” They both look at where Negasonic’s eating her tail right next to where Bruce is eating his breakfast.

 

“Zayn, I couldn’t – “

 

“We got off on the wrong foot.” Zayn says, shifting to face Liam completely, bouncing on the soles of his feet as his voice picks up energy. He seems genuinely excited, earnest. “Several wrong feet, I think.”

 

Liam laughs, and ducks his head acknowledging the truth. “Yeah, we kinda did.”

 

Zayn sticks out his hand, and they clasp, Zayn holding on tight. “I want us to be friends.”

 

Liam nods, distracted by the ruffle of Zayn’s fringe and the warmth of his palm. “So… _hi_. I’m Zayn Malik.” Zayn starts, smiling ruefully and shaking Liam’s hand. “I write for a love and life advice column, under the penname Aunt Mariam. I have a cat who likes belly rubs more than he actually likes me. I’ve got three sisters, and more cousins than I can keep track of. My Mum runs a boutique in Bradford, which is where I grew up. My best mates Harry and Niall work at the same magazine as me.”

 

Liam tries to interrupt but Zayn crooks an eyebrow at him and continues. “I like to play video games when I’ve got downtime, and sometimes I get real moody and like to be alone for awhile, my Mum says I’ve been like that since I was a baby. I don’t much like coffee but my favorite coffee shop is Espresso You Deserve.” Then he smiles and tilts his head. “You _probably_ haven’t heard of it, real lowkey London type.”

 

Liam laughs, their hands still bouncing up and down foolishly. He smiles, “Lovely to meet you, Zayn. I’m Liam Payne. I own Espresso You Deserve.”

 

“What? You do? That’s incredible.” Zayn plays along, smiling. Their hands finally come apart and Zayn leans against the counter with his arms crossed on his chest. “Tell me more.”

 

“I’m from Wolverhampton, my best friend Andy calls me Big Payno sometimes, I have a dog named Negasonic. I’ve got two sisters, and my Mum and Dad. I grew a kidney back – “

 

“What? That doesn’t happen.” Zayn says, jerking back and quirking an eyebrow at Liam.

 

“It _did_. The doctors said – “

 

“Okay, okay. If you say _so_. Continue on.” Zayn waves a hand at him to continue introducing himself, and Liam sighs, looking around the room.

 

“I’m getting divorced.” He says finally, firmly though he’s surprised his voice doesn’t shake.

 

“That sucks, mate.” Sounding like a casual stranger, but giving him a look that says more. Liam shrugs, feeling for the first time since Sophia had laid it out there that he might be okay with it one day. One day soon.

 

“It’s alright. She didn’t like my dog, anyway.” Liam jokes. “Can’t have that type of negativity around.”

 

“A real _monster_.” Zayn deadpans. “So, you staying?”

 

Liam thinks about it for a second, considering all his options. He could couch surf while he hopes for a not-shitty flat, or he could stay here. Another problem occurs to him, though not really for the first time. “I’m not ready for…” He doesn’t know how to say that he’s not sure they can be just friends. That he’s certainly not ready for a rebound, and that he’s even more certain Zayn deserves better than that.

 

“No pressure, Liam.” Zayn says firmly. “For anything. We’re friends, _roommates_ for awhile, that’s all.”

 

“I’ll stay then.” Liam smiles. “Guess this gives me more opportunities to make you like coffee.”

 

“You can try, tea’s still the best.”


	8. eight.

**_“And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me, talk some sense to me.” - Amber Run_ **

 

When Zayn goes to Espresso You Deserve next the bell above the door doesn’t ring. That’s because the door is propped open, and Zayn has to squeeze past a line out the door just to get into the cramped and loud floor. Behind the counter is Liam, Andy, Max, and Drake – running around like chickens without heads, laughing with customers and the pastries seem to be flying off the shelves. Zayn waves, tucking a half-smoked, stubbed out cigarette behind his ear when Liam sees him.

 

He comes around the counter, apron messy but smile bright. “Zayn!” Zayn slaps hands with him like he might with other mates from Bradford, and they bump shoulders casually. “Look at this turn out, will ya?”

 

“It’s amazing, Leem. Harry’s article did the trick then?”

 

“We’re still in deep water but with our profits today? It’s looking _good_.”

 

“Amazing, amazing.” Zayn nods, looking around. People are taking photos of the latte art with their phones, and chatting on the windowsill, and laughing at the tables. It’s nice to see so many people appreciating this place, when Zayn seen it first. “You happy?” Zayn asks, throwing an arm around Liam as they both admire the café. Liam leans into him easily, naturally, and nods.

 

“I’m gonna have to hire more people now, we’re barely holding it down back here. You lookin’ for a part timer?” Liam jokes, pulling away back to behind the counter, though his hand rests patiently on the swinging door’s top. His eyes shine where they meet Zayn’s, nothing like the dullness they’d held just a few days ago.

 

“Maybe if this Aunt Mariam gig doesn’t work out.” Zayn jokes back. They can do that now, at least he thinks so. Liam’s face doesn’t give away any pain or negative reminders from the mention, so Zayn feels fairly confident.

 

“I’ll see you at the flat then? Later?” Liam asks, toying with the corner of his apron.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Probably pick up takeaway.” Zayn shrugs. “You want anything particular?”

 

“Whatever you’d like.” Liam smiles, taking a step back into the stand but not disappearing yet. “Have a good rest of the day. You want a coffee? Pastry?”

 

Zayn waves a hand at him, “Go feed your paying customers, Leeyum. I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

“So when do I get to meet the new housemate, huh?” Louis asks, balancing his arse on Zayn’s desk and his feet on Zayn’s chair’s arm.

 

“Go away, I’m working.” Zayn says, staring determinedly at an email from HR about sexual harassment.

 

“You’ve refreshed your email like four times since I’ve sat down?” Louis kicks him hard in the arm. “I want to meet him. The others have. Harry says he’s cute.”

 

“Really none of your business, I think.”

 

“Do I have to fire you again?”

 

Zayn sighs, sitting back in his chair and knocking Louis’ feet off the arm. He wobbles a bit on his perch but stays sitting smugly, smiling down at him. “Why do you want to meet him so much? He’s going through a lot right now; he needs space to – “

 

“Let’s have a party.” Louis says excitedly, eyes going wide.

 

“That’s the _opposite_ of giving him space.” Zayn frowns.

 

“He’s getting divorced, right? He doesn’t need space! He needs new friends!” Louis snaps his fingers, and then points at Zayn, finger almost touching his nose. “I’ll take care of everything.”

 

“Fine! Nothing too extreme? You scared the shit out of Bruce last time with the firecrackers and I still can’t get that goo stain out of my bathtub’s tiles.” Zayn cringes thinking about the last party Louis had hosted at _Zayn’s_ flat, which had gone from a small quiet gathering to a who-the-fuck-are-these-people rave in ten minutes flat.

 

“No problem.” Louis smiles, and Zayn really hopes that the mischief he sees is simply from paranoia.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, crisps?” Louis says, even as he sees Niall pouring another bag into a bowl. Niall stills holds up a thumbs up, and says, “Check!”

 

“Music?” Louis prompts again, and Harry holds up his phone, which is plugged into the aux cord of Zayn’s stereo.

 

“Liam?” Louis prompts once more, and Zayn sighs.

 

“He’ll be home in about fifteen minutes. You’re _not_ going to mob him.” Zayn snaps, even though he’d already told Liam to expect meeting Louis after work today. He’d also told him about the party, though Liam hadn’t seemed to actually understand how out of control tonight might get. He’d laughed when Zayn had tried to describe to him the mysterious goo in the bathroom on Zayn’s 23 rd birthday, and the time Louis filled Zayn’s entire kitchen with bubbles for St. Patrick’s Day. The correlation had never made any sense to him.

 

“I would never.” Louis says aghast, sidling up next to Harry and snatching the phone from him. “I’m not the type to be pushy or aggressive, right boyfriend?”

 

“You don’t have to worry, Zayn, I said I’d withhold for at least a week if he was rude to Liam.” Harry smiles, winking at Zayn and shoving his fingers up under Louis’ ribs making him yelp.

 

“Hey!” Louis shoves the phone back to Harry, Arctic Monkeys playing quietly through the speakers now. “Anyway, so, fill me in on the down low, he knows everything?”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugs, picking Bruce up from the couch and cradling him in his arms. He’s nervous, he can admit that to himself at least. He wants Liam to like Louis, more than he’s worried about Louis liking Liam. Louis’ is rather easy to please when it comes to people, rather quick to affection and new friendships, but he knows he can be abrasive sometimes. Especially to someone who might be feeling sensitive, or vulnerable, right now. “We’re on the same page.”

 

“Hmm.” Louis hums thoughtfully, and Zayn’s not sure what that means exactly.

 

He doesn’t have time to wonder though because the front door opens ten minutes earlier than expected, and Liam and the guys pour in. Drake’s got a hand clapped at the back of Liam’s neck and they’re all laughing at something when they see Zayn and his friends. “Oh, hey! Zayn you obviously know the guys, but Harry, Niall, these are my friends and coworkers at the café. Drake, Andy, Max, these are Zayn’s friends.”

 

He points to each of them as he says their name and then sweeps his arm out across Zayn and his friends. “Er, this is Harry, Niall, and this is Louis.” Zayn claps his hand down on Louis’ shoulder, giving it a squeeze and begging the universe to not make Louis make an arse of himself.

 

Louis, to his credit, just reaches out and shakes Liam’s hand. “Liam, right? Nice to meet ya, mate.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Louis. Hear you fired Zayn, we gotta have a go?” Liam asks seriously.

 

Louis laughs heartily, and Zayn breathes a bit easier.

 

* * *

 

The party actually manages to stay small, a few more people from the office showing up, and a few others like Nick and Bressie and Steve Aoki, who Zayn had thought Louis made up. “So, like you’re an actual famous DJ?” Zayn asks when he winds up dipping crisps into guacamole with him. The guy’s got on these crazy pants with wild colorful 80’s stripes on them, and hair down to his belly button, and he nods chillin’ eating crisps.

 

“Yeah, guess so, Louis told you?”

 

“I thought he was lying.” Zayn admits, laughing, and shaking his head. “How’d he even meet you?”

 

“I think he was covering one of the concerts I was doing, he’s a really nice guy. I was playing with Kid Cudi, and then suddenly there’s this blue eyed guy in adidas trainers up in the booth asking me questions about what it’s like spinning.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, chuckling. “Sounds like him.”

 

Zayn leaves to find Liam shortly after but not before Steve’s told him all about working with Usher, and the best places to shop.

 

He scans most of the flat before he realizes the balcony’s door is slit open a bit, revealing a bit of the urban light outside. It’s less of a balcony and more of a fire escape, but when Zayn opens the door he finds Liam and Harry sitting out there, beers in hand. “Hey.” Zayn says, squeezing in beside Harry to sit with his legs dangling off the edge. “Why are you out here?”

 

“Just taking a break, talking about the spread.” Liam offers, taking a swig of his beer. Zayn doesn’t look at the way his lips press to the rim of the bottle.

 

“Did you read it, Zayn?”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, taking a cigarette from the pack he’s left on a planter in the corner. He waves it questioningly at Harry and Liam, who shake their head and shrug respectively. Next to the pack is a lighter that refuses to light no matter how many times Zayn flicks it so he grabs the match box under it and lights his cigarette with one. Smoke fills the small space, the only light from the streetlight near the flat and the red burning tip of the cig. “It was ace, ‘Arry.”

 

“Thank you, mostly Liam’s work though.” Harry says proudly, like a father at his child’s first sport event. “He made it nice and easy to write, all sorts of good quotes about the architecture and the way the windows glance sunlight off the croissants.”

 

“It’s true though,” Liam smiles. “The lighting’s perfect.”

 

“Do you think I should quit writing Aunt Mariam?” Zayn asks musingly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. It’s just now occurred to him that he hasn’t written a single reply for this week’s publication though Louis hasn’t reminded him.  Maybe he’s taken a page out of Liam’s coping book because the idea of changing careers doesn’t seem as scary now.

 

“What else would you write?” Liam asks, leaning past Harry to look at Zayn. He shrugs, tapping ash out over the edge of the escape.

 

“Dunno. Maybe music, was just talking to Steve about him being a DJ. Could be cool.”

 

“Sylvia does music though.” Harry points out.

 

“Maybe she’d be interested in trading?” Liam offers rationally.

 

“She’s got blue hair, a record collection and talks about being a vegan most of the time, probably not.” Niall says suddenly behind them, sitting down cross-legged behind Zayn. He offers a bag of crisps to Harry who takes a handful, holding them greasily in his palm and plucking them out one by one.

 

“I host you a perfectly good party and you lot spend it out on the fire escape in the bloody cold.” Louis complains, stepping over Niall and using Zayn’s head as a balance to climb into the tight space and sit by Liam. Harry spins, with difficulty, so his back is to the banister and edge and they can all see each other.  “What are we discussing?”

 

“What I should do with my life.” Zayn deadpans, Niall’s hand squeezing his neck tightly once.

 

“Heavy party topic.” Louis laughs, taking a swig of a martini he’s made himself. “What’re our options?”

 

“Make Sylvia write for Aunt Mariam so Zayn can write music.” Harry says, Liam following up with “But she’s got blue hair and records so not likely.”

 

“Well I’m editor so I could _make_ her, but we got anything else?”

 

They look at each other and shrug. “Not really.” Zayn says.

 

“Blog?” Niall offers, Zayn sighing.

 

“I don’t want to make a living off advertisements, though.”

 

“What about Radio One? I think Nick could probably get you like an internship or something to start.” Harry says, shooting up excitedly.

 

“Hmm, think Zayn might be a bit quiet for radio, Haz.” Louis hums, elbow resting on Liam’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for months rather than hours. “I can promote you to something with a fancy title and then – “

 

“That already sounds bad, Lou. What about Bressie’s band? You could play with them?”

 

“I want to _write_ , didn’t get that journalism degree for nothing but thanks Nialler.” Zayn stubs his cigarette out on the metal edge of the balcony and throws the butt into the planter.

 

“I heard Kerrang is hiring, my sister Ruth works for their legal department.” Liam says suddenly, tapping Zayn’s arm across Harry’s shoulders. “They’re a big music magazine, you’d be guaranteed no more advice column there.”

 

“Payno, that works perfectly with my half of the plan!” Louis shouts, ruffling Liam’s hair excitedly. Then he looks to Zayn, holding his hand out like he does when he’s about to pitch him an idea. “So I promote you to something like Head Editor Under Entertainment or something arbitrary that sounds good, and we all work to write you like the best recommendation letter with a lot of embellishment? You get it no problem.” He claps his hands together like he’s brushing off any problems, and Zayn grins.

 

“Not that you need a lot of embellishment, Zayn, you could get it without all that.” Harry says softly, smiling at him comfortingly.

 

“I think that sounds like a good plan actually.” Niall says.

 

“Great, so what should Zayn’s new title be?”

 

* * *

 

Drake’s asleep on their couch, not really because of alcohol though Louis had supplied the party like they were all still in uni but because it’s nearly 3 AM by the time most everyone’s left, and Harry’s already commandeered the guest room bed. He’d declared that he was staying over at around midnight, a face filled Zayn’s night cream and in pajamas he’d definitely brought with him. Zayn hadn’t had the heart to fight with him.

 

“You had fun? _Like_ Louis and everyone?” Zayn asks as they lightly clean up, lazily since it’s so late. He only bothers because he still has some energy, and he’s cautiously trying to wait out the sleeping arrangements. It’s not like they haven’t shared a bed before, but that was when Liam was freshly heart broken and sobbing into his t-shirt. This time they’ll both be moderately put together, and that makes his palms sweat.

 

Liam smiles, scooping more rubbish from the coffee table into a bag he’s dragging around. “Yeah, Louis’ not as bad as you said he would be.”

 

“He was on his best behavior.” Zayn says genuinely acknowledging that Louis had tried to be friendly and welcoming without his usual cling. Liam fit into their group like a missing piece none of them had known wasn’t there, and by the end of the night Niall had been making promises to play a few holes with him and Harry was offering co-baking sessions and Louis had only threatened him once about hurting Zayn. All in all, Zayn was happy.

 

Liam nods, passing Zayn the rubbish bag and reaching over Drake for a blanket Zayn’s hung over the back of the couch. He lays it over his friend gently, and unbuckles his watch, placing it on the coffee table. “You take care of everyone.” Zayn points out as Liam makes sure a glass of water is close to him.

 

He looks up, surprised, like he hadn’t realized Zayn could see him. “Yeah? I…he’s my friend.” Liam heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. “Are you ready to sleep?”

 

“Think I’m gonna smoke a minute, you go ahead.” He doesn’t actually have that craving tingling at his fingertips right now but he doesn’t want them dancing around each other trying to figure out the situation. He’d prefer to just slide in at the last second when Liam’s hopefully already sleep, or at least settled down. Liam nods, and heads towards Zayn’s bedroom taking Negasonic with him, trotting at his heels.

 

Zayn sighs though it’s not a sad or stressed sound, it’s just nice being alone after so long surrounded by people, especially hosting. He steps back out onto the balcony and lights a cigarette. It’s chilly out, the air misty with coming rain, and Zayn thinks of his warm bed yearningly. He just needs to give Liam time to clean up, change and get in so he doesn’t have to _talk_ about anything.

 

He’s got a text from Doniya several hours ago asking how he is, and how living with Liam’s going. He’ll respond tomorrow, he thinks, breathing in a heavy draw and exhaling a large cloud of smoke. Maybe he’ll call instead of text, talk to his Mum as well.

 

After he’s smoked the entire cig down to the butt and lost most of the feeling in his bare toes, he stubs it completely out and drops it in the planter. He locks the balcony door and checks the front locks, checking that nothing’s been left on.

 

The hall bathroom is dark and empty so he takes his time in there, cleaning his face and moisturizing after he’s pissed. He thinks about Liam falling asleep in his bed, and the scent of his hair on Zayn’s pillows. He shouldn’t still, even without Sophia in the picture it’s probably not alright to think about the softness of Liam’s smile and the subtle curve and stretch of his biceps.

 

It’s been a little more than three weeks since Liam moved in, since Sophia asked for the divorce, and Zayn’s trying to be good. He’s trying to be Liam’s friend as much as he’s Harry or Niall’s, and he doesn’t spend large amounts of time thinking about their lips around his cock like does with Liam.

 

After he’s hovered in the bathroom as long as possible he goes down to his room, where the lights have already been switched out and only the tiniest bit of light from outside curves across Liam’s form on the bed. Zayn shuffles quietly across the room, pulling the curtains completely shut since he doesn’t want to be up in just a few hours, and he crawls under the comforter.

 

It’s quiet for a moment, Liam’s breathing soft and slow enough that Zayn relaxes, getting comfortable on his side. “Zayn?” He almost jumps out of his skin, flipping over like there’s a threat even though it’s just the gentle prod of Liam’s voice breaking through the darkness.

 

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

 

“No, no, I wasn’t asleep yet.” Liam says. “Just thinking.”

 

“Bout what?” Zayn asks, getting more comfortable on the side facing Liam even though he can’t see him. He can picture his face though in his mind, and the way his mouth moves around his words.

 

“Aunt Mariam.” Liam says after a second, and Zayn’s shoulders tense up. “I’m not mad anymore, don’t worry.” Liam’s hand reaches out, maybe to pat his shoulder or his arm but he ends up patting Zayn on the neck strangely. Somehow the awkward touch still makes Zayn feel more awake.

 

“I was just thinking about how you don’t want to write for her anymore.”

 

“It’s not like I hate it, I’m just…stuck, I think. Like my mind’s not really, getting the responses anymore.” Zayn says, voice quiet in the dark. “They used to come so easy, I used to just _know_ what to say. After your letters, it was like I couldn’t find the words anymore.”

 

“I wasn’t the last person you responded to though?”

 

“I’ve been using a template. It’s just an old letter from like a year ago, a good one, and I just fill in specific information mostly to change it up per response.” Zayn admits, feeling ashamed even though he knows there are plenty greasier and insincere ways he could do his job. “I always worried I’d end up writing rubbish with this assignment but now…now I definitely am.”

 

“I don’t know about the letters after me but your letters to _me_ were beautiful.” Liam says, hand reaching out once more into the shadow and landing on Zayn’s miraculously.

 

“Have you ever written to me before now?”

 

“No but my sister did.” Liam says. “It’s the reason I even wrote to you in the first place, I’m not very up to date on your letters, sorry.” Zayn shrugs, tapping his hand once softly. “She wrote to you when she was getting married about how she was having a hard time finding a dress that fit and she was worried about the wedding day.”

 

Zayn wracks his brain trying to think of the letter but he can’t. “I don’t remember it, sorry.”

 

“That’s okay. Your response was just really nice and genuine, and made her feel a lot better about things. So I reached out, and honestly you were more than I expected even with just a few letters…and even though things didn’t work out in the end.” Liam pulls away and Zayn reaches out quick, grabbing his hand before he can retreat completely.

 

“Aunt Mariam stands by what she said though, ya know.” Zayn smiles even though Liam can’t see it, his heart feeling over-full. “You’re _you_ with or without Sophia.”

 

“Well…you are _you_ without Aunt Mariam.” Liam laughs. “I mean like, I think you’ll do amazing at your next job, whether it’s at Kerrang, or if it’s something else completely.”

 

“Thank you, babe.” Zayn squeezes Liam’s hand tight and releases it. “We should get some sleep; you have work in the morning right?”

 

“We’re closed tomorrow. Since everyone’s here and going to be hungover tomorrow.” Liam laughs. “We can kick Drake and Harry out, and eat greasy shit on the couch in our pants together tomorrow morning.”

 

Zayn rolls over onto his back, and shuts his eyes surprised by how comfortable and relaxed he feels with someone in his bed. “Sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Zayn applies to Kerrang on an idle Tuesday, and spends all evening nervously smoking and drinking with Liam and Harry telling him how he’s guaranteed got the job. “You’ve got it. That cover letter?” Harry asks, grip tight on Zayn’s neck and legs heavy on his lap. He passes him another shot, and Zayn downs it desperately.

 

“Amazing!” Liam cheers. “And that recommendation letter! Louis out-did himself.”

 

“I helped with that, you liked it?” Harry asks, getting distracted by the praise. Then he resumes massaging Zayn’s shoulders of their tension.

 

“Yes, it was great. Really highlighted all of Zayn’s abilities.”

 

“Oh god, I’m not going to get this. I’m going to write advice letters for the rest of my god damn life.” Zayn moans, slightly drunk and nearly dropping his cigarette onto the couch. Harry catches it at the last second and gives it back to him, he puffs on it gratefully.

 

“This is just what the twenties are like, babe.” Liam says, squeezing onto the couch so Zayn’s in between him and Harry. “Remember how my business was failing? And I was sure I was going to be working at a Starbucks, if I was lucky?”

 

“That does provide some perspective.” Harry agrees, nodding. “Me and Louis had a fight recently if that helps.”

 

“I know you guys fucked like five minutes later though.” Zayn snaps. “You sent me a snap that said ‘Makeup sex is best sex’.”

 

“Alright, jeez, I’m just trying to help.” Harry pouts, sensitive heart splayed out across Zayn’s sofa. He puts his hand on Harry’s chest above the butterfly tattoo he knows is under the sweater and pats.

 

“I haven’t pulled in like four months.” Zayn whines into Harry’s neck, pulling away to smoke and blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. Distantly he feels Liam stiffen a bit next to him, but he doesn’t really notice distracted by the alcohol in his system and his own misery. He can’t stop thinking of all the potential embarrassing typos in his resume or how the people at Kerrang will laugh over his abysmal experience or the fact that no one’s touched his cock but him since Gigi.

 

“You could.” Harry says slowly, hesitatingly. Zayn lays back so his head is resting on Harry’s shoulder but he’s free to smoke, throwing his knee over Liam’s lap. “If you wanted to, we could go to a pub.”

 

“Too much effort.” Zayn says. “Leem, pour me a shot.”

 

Liam does, and passes it to him. He throws it back. “How much liver damage are you going to put yourself through before Kerrang gets back to you?” Harry asks, running his hand back over Zayn’s hair and messing it up more than it already is.

 

“Enough that I stop thinking about how I’ve had one job since uni and it’s an advice column.” Zayn says, little laughing executives dancing in his head.

 

“It’s still great experience!” Liam argues, defending him to himself. “You’ve not been unemployed! And you got this job right out of uni, that counts for a lot!”

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have included four recommendation letters, that seems desperate, huh?” Harry’s phone vibrates behind Zayn, and he shakes his finger in Harry’s face drunkenly. “Uh uh, I _need_ you.” Harry pulls it out, reading the text.

 

“Ugh, Louis locked himself out of the flat again.” He gets up, laying Zayn down gently on the couch though he struggles up immediately, elbows made of jelly. “I gotta go but look! Liam’s still here.” He talks to Zayn like he’s a toddler with abandonment issues, and he rolls his eyes, stubbing out his cigarette on the make shift ashtray Harry’d put on the coffee table.

 

“Tell that arsehole his letter better get me this job or I’m going to burn Aunt Mariam to the ground.” Zayn commands imperiously, though maybe the slur ruins the effect.

 

“Of course, Zaynie.” Harry panders, wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulling on his gloves. “Take care of him alright?” He says to Liam, who nods firmly.

 

“Alright, good bye. You’re going to get the job.” Harry says, pressing his forehead to Zayn’s and ruffling his hair annoyingly. He sweeps out of the flat dramatically, the door shutting quietly behind him.

 

“Can’t believe he’d leave me in my darkest hour.”

 

“Feel like this isn’t the darkest, babe.” Liam rubs his leg soothingly and Zayn sighs. “How about we get you showered and sobered up a little bit and we can order in? Watch The Dark Night?” Zayn nods and tries to stand up but his leg doesn’t get the message on time and he ends up on the floor on his knees, fallen. Liam tries to pull him up but Zayn bats him away.

 

“I got it, I got it.” He stands up and sways a little bit, Liam’s arm around his waist keeping him standing. “Thanks.” He mutters when Liam walks them down the hall to the bathroom. They crowd together in the tight space, Zayn propped against the sink while Liam turns on the shower and tests the water.

 

“You alright to… undress?” Liam asks, hand on the bathroom doorknob. Zayn nods, scoffing, and goes to unbutton his jeans. His fingers can’t seem to grab ahold of the button properly though, nor his belt and he nearly falls over trying to just pull it all past his hips still buttoned and belted. “Oh god, okay, I can help. You’ll just…get the pants, right?”

 

“Sure, yeah. I can –“ Zayn cuts off when Liam’s warm fingers accidentally touch his sides as he pulls up Zayn’s tank top. He probably doesn’t mean to do it, by the firmly professional look on his face, but Zayn wants him to mean it so badly and his drunk mind is having a hard time remembering why he shouldn’t.

 

“You know, when we were fresh at the magazine and Harry wasn’t dating Louis yet, we used to pull together sometimes.” Zayn says, voice husky as Liam deposits his tank in the laundry bin and avoids looking at his chest.

 

“Together?” Liam asks, eyes wide and hand lingering above Zayn’s abdomen. “Like…”

 

“Yeah, just once in awhile. Usually when we were drunk, and able to convince the girls.” Zayn really wants to feel Liam’s hands on him, that rose tattoo tantalizing where it hovers near him. The memories of charming girls with Harry have his blood rushing, and he imagines briefly what it would have been like to meet Liam in a bar. If maybe he’d have been convinced too.

 

“Only girls?” Liam asks, voice rough. The shower runs loudly behind them, and all Zayn’s tipsy mind can think of is water running across all of Liam’s toned perfect skin. Their lips pressed together beneath the warm water.

 

“Not always.” Zayn responds vaguely, eyes on Liam’s mouth. Liam avoids his eyes, hands shaking where they go to his wrist to remove his watch. “There was a guy once, when i was in my last month of uni – “

 

“Zayn – “

 

“Harry fucked him.” Zayn doesn’t have a lot of self control when he’s drunk, especially not when he’s also horny. “He blew me.”

 

“Sounds intense.” Liam says, voice trying to sound natural but choking up slightly, and rough with something Zayn can only hope is arousal. He won’t meet Zayn’s eyes but by the shake of his hands where they grip Zayn’s belt buckle, he’s not entirely unaffected by the conversation.

 

“It was.” Zayn says as Liam unbuttons his jeans and drags down the zipper. “He wasn’t very good, seemed like maybe it was his first time with guys.” Liam’s hands run down his thighs where they jerk his jeans down to his feet, and Zayn steps out of them using the opportunity to move within a few inches of Liam. So close, he has nowhere to go and their eyes meet. Liam’s pupils blown dark and large.

 

“You have to shower.” Liam says, words coming out in a rush. “Sit down in there if you can’t stand. Don’t fall.” He runs out of the room, leaving Zayn braced against the counter, body hot and untouched, mind spinning. After he’s climbed his way into the shower, and holds himself up through it using the walls, he feels soberer but no less aroused.

 

When he gets back to the den in fresh pajama pants and a t-shirt, Liam’s slurping noodles out of a container and determinedly watching television. Zayn sits down next to him and guzzles a glass of water before starting to eat. He’s feeling okay, still tipsy and a little nauseous but mostly alright. He peers over at Liam who doesn’t look angry, maybe a bit tense though.

 

“Sorry.” He says finally, Liam glancing over at him but not meeting his eyes. There’s a tense second where neither of them speak then Zayn says, “I used to kiss Niall’s ears. When we’d get drunk. He hated it because my beard tickled and eventually I grew out of it, but…I _did_ it.”

 

Liam just looks at him and Zayn starts to really worry, when Liam laughs out loud and grins. “It’s alright, Zayn. I think I can handle you coming onto me since we’ve _actually_ kissed before.”

 

Zayn’s surprised they’re apparently able to talk about that casually now, but he laughs anyway. “You gonna tell Harry I told you?” Zayn cringes, knowing Harry’s going to kill him when he finds out.

 

“Nah, I’m gonna wait till we’re all drunk and then try to pull him.” Liam says with a completely straight face. “He might actually pass out.”

 

Zayn laughs, glad that nothing’s been ruined by his drunken actions. He leans back into the couch eating the Thai Liam’s ordered for them, and watching the Late Late show as James makes celebrities do stupid things. Liam’s looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and Zayn stops, noodle caught between his lips. He slurps it up, and says “What?” which comes out a bit distorted by his full mouth.

 

“Nothing, just…” Liam shakes his head ruefully and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, looking back to the telly. Zayn decides to let it go, but when he gets up for water he comes back and sits just a little bit closer to Liam on the couch.

 

* * *

 

When Liam has his first mediation meeting with Sophia, he tells Zayn that he’ll be alright to do it alone. Zayn doesn’t really believe him but he lets him go and sends him off on a Saturday morning with a hug and an encouraging smile. He promises to be home when he gets back, even though Liam swears up and down that he’s free to go out and do whatever he wants, that he won’t need the support.

 

By the afternoon, Zayn’s nearly asleep on the sofa with Bruce curled up on his shoulder and Negasonic on the floor by his feed, napping in a big shirt he thinks might be Liam’s.  He wakes up blearily when the front door unlocks, but he doesn’t have time to sit up before Liam is on top of him, head heavy on Zayn’s chest and arm tight around his waist.

 

“Didn’t go well?” He asks, running his hand sleepily through Liam’s hair. He doesn’t feel any tears on his shirt so hopefully it didn’t go too badly.

 

“No.” Liam says, sounding surprised. “It went well. Should be able to file it in a week, and after that…”

 

“You’ll be divorced.” Zayn finishes for him.

 

“Yeah.” Liam agrees. He doesn’t sound upset, maybe a bit numb, a bit shocked. Zayn just holds him quietly, letting him deal with it in his own time.

 

“You okay?” Zayn asks when he’s about to fall asleep again, getting harder and harder to keep running his fingers through Liam’s hair and not just leave them there. Liam shrugs against his side, and he feels a soft pressure just beneath his clavicle where Liam’s mouth should be.

 

“Gonna be.”


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> liam and zayn make bread, and celebrate the changing tides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has explicit sexual content. (the next chapter will too)

**_“It's such a cruel world, savin' all my love for you, boy, ah ooh. It's such a cruel world, maybe I found somethin' good.”_ **

 

Zayn and Harry set up shop at Espresso You Deserve to work on Aunt Mariam’s week of letters, and Harry’s follow up spread with Liam. Harry follows a pattern somewhat with his body of work for the magazine, where he writes a spread initially about the location, about the food, about the owner, etc. Then when enough time has passed, so that people have really had time to respond to the spread, he revisits it for a follow up.

 

Today he has lots of questions for Liam, whose flour-covered forearms brace on the back of a chair where he sits with them. It’s been a little over a month since the divorce was laid on the table, and he and Sophia are finally really in the last legs of mediation and negotiation and ready to file. Zayn hasn’t seen her face since they met at the café but Liam’s come back from their meetings progressively more okay, even cleaning house and baking muffins at home after the last one. He looks good, smiles brighter, is back to styling his hair.

 

Zayn can admit he’s looking now, and he enjoys the sight.

 

“Alright, so were you expecting this large of a response, Liam, when you first decided to let me do the spread on your café slash bakery?” Harry asks, tape recorder down on the table and fingers ready at his laptop. Zayn sips at his latte quietly, watching Liam ponder the question. The café is slow in the late morning, but it’s not likely to stay that way for long. It doesn’t anymore, Zayn showing up sometimes with the line down the street.

 

“Uh, of course not, no.” Liam says after a second. He shrugs, shoulders exposed in an Espresso You Deserve tank top. “I was pretty desperate when you offered to write the spread, and I expected maybe a couple new interested customers, or really _nothing_ at all. I was expecting to go out of business at the time, expecting to lose the café so all this recent success and ya know, new influx of customers is really a surprise, but an amazing surprise of course.”

 

“So you were convinced that you were going to lose this place, what was your plan? For after, if you had one?” Harry continues, ripping a piece off the chocolate croissant Zayn had bought for lunch. He slaps his hand away, and Harry pouts at him briefly before looking back to Liam with his professional face.

 

“Um, find a new job.” Liam laughs darkly. “I was kind of prepared mostly to just deal with the closing of the café and finding a new job baking or barista-ing somewhere so I could pay the rent. Um, but yeah that’s, I’m glad that the café doesn’t seem like it’s going to close because my plan was less of a plan and more of day-by-day survival plan.”

 

“Alright, and what are your plans now? I’ve heard from a reliable friend of yours,” Harry smiles at Zayn who rolls his eyes and goes back to reading a letter to Mariam. “That you’re looking for new employees and bakers to add to the operation now that you’re in need of them.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, before the spread it was difficult but also relatively easy to run one-person shifts um but now that’s basically impossible. It would be way too much work now for even two of us, and I only have myself and then three other employees. So the plan is to increase our employment, and maintain our production, and see how things go with all the new customers coming.” Liam waves a hand in the air.

 

“It wasn’t like I was trying to work us so hard before, or didn’t _want_ to spring for more employees because you know it got hard sometimes with not having proper weekends or working really long, strenuous hours and then having to come back and do that exact same shift the next day. But we simply weren’t making enough to justify more employees, I would have had to dock wages and I’ve always tried to pay above min.” Liam sighs, the old resignation surely being caught on tape.

 

“You said maintain production, what does that mean?” Harry asks, typing something onto his laptop.

 

“Well the ultimate goal and dream was always a bakery, and the café just sort of happened with it, so I would love to incorporate more innovative and creative pastries and cakes and breads but right now we have a pretty stable diverse selection. I’d say until the café is really above and beyond the minimum I won’t be able to do _all_ that want, but we’re at a very good point right now.” Liam says. The café is starting to fill up for the noon-ish rush, and Liam begs off from the interview, promising to come back when the rush has died down.

 

“Anything back from Kerrang yet?” Harry asks, turning to Zayn who has reread the same letter three times now and absorbed none of it.

 

“Not yet.” Zayn shrugs. “You wanna help with these? I can’t focus on them – “

 

“Sure.” Harry scoops up more than half of the stack Zayn brought with him, digging in immediately like the good friend he is. Zayn smiles endeared and peeks up to where Liam’s smiling at a customer. “Focus, lover boy.”

 

Zayn pretends to be offended, even though he feels like his heart is growing two sizes right there just from looking at Liam.

 

* * *

 

 

“How have you never made fresh bread before?” Liam asks him, rubbing flour onto his palms and up onto his wrists like a doctor would sanitize before going into surgery. He’s in a tank top that shows off his biceps, and triceps and back muscles, and Zayn feels like maybe he should start going to the gym more if he’s going to live with this damn bodybuilder.

 

“I burn toast, mate, I don’t think it’s in my skill set.” Zayn laughs, scrubbing flour onto his hands like Liam had shown him, feeling awkward about it. He doesn’t really bake at all, preferring to just buy biscuits or whatever than make them by hand and make the kitchen even messier than it usually is.

 

He should have known living with Liam that would be impossible.

 

“Everyone can cook.” Liam preaches, poking Zayn in the chest.

 

“That’s from Ratatouille, you nerd.” Zayn shoves him, leaving a flour handprint on his top. They scuffle playfully for a second before Liam pulls back and scoops his hair back with a headband.

 

“Okay, okay.” He passes Zayn a hair tie for his, and then he pulls the ingredients all towards them. “So I already set up the yeast, which you dissolve into warm water. Now we’re going to add the other dry ingredients to the mix, so measure out…” Liam peers at the handwritten Moleskine he always has on him that holds his personal recipes. “Three tablespoons of sugar into the bowl.”

 

Zayn does that easily, making sure to scrape the top of the measuring spoon so no more or less gets put in then required. The precision is nice; he can see why Liam’s made it his life. He and Liam pour their salt and sugar in at the same time, and then Liam looks back to the recipe. “Alright, two tablespoons oil.”

 

Zayn does that while Liam prepares the flour. “So we’re going to pour all of it in but the flour which we’re going to pour in by the half cup as we stir, so when I tell you to pour this in, you’ll do it and get another half cup alright?”

 

Liam sets the mix they’ve started into the hands-free mixer that’s taken up residence on the counter since he moved in and starts it stirring watching it intently. “Okay, pour that in slowly.” He stands back and lets Zayn do it, watching as he empties the cup into the bowl, the whisks folding the flour in deftly. “Alright next one.”

 

Zayn makes sure it’s topped perfectly and pours it in slowly without any guidance. This goes on for several more half cups until he realizes a recognizable dough has started to actually form! “It’s turning to dough!” He says, excitement painting his voice. Liam laughs, “Yes, yeah. You might need a bit more flour so go ahead and pour another half cup and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

 

Zayn does so, and Liam puts his hand over his when he wants him to stop. “That’s probably good, let’s check it out.” He stops the mixer and pulls the high-edged bowl out. He looks at it for a second and then overturns the bowl onto the already floured counter top. Tapping the bottom of the bowl with the palm of his hand, they hear the wet plop of dough onto the counter and when Liam lifts the bowl the dough is mostly out but clinging to the sides.

 

He scoops it out with his hand and grabs a little more flour, rubbing his hands with Zayn’s to spread it around. “Okay, so now this is a pretty good consistency. This is what you’d want if you were doing it without me, it’s relatively wet still since you’re going to dry it out with more flour as you knead it but its not wet enough that it won’t leave the bowl. Go ahead and touch it, get a feel.”

 

Zayn pokes it with one finger and Liam laughs, making his cheeks hot. He puts his entire hand on top of the dough instead trying to make up for his awkward slip up but then when he tries to pull back its stuck to him completely. Liam laughs for nearly an entire minute before he scrapes it off Zayn’s hand with his finger and drizzles a bit of flour over the top.

 

There’s a second where Liam seems to consider the situation, eyes running over the dough, and then he’s kneading it, knuckles and palms pushing and pulling. His back and shoulders work hard moving the dough, peeling it off the table and slapping it back down, and Zayn’s oddly aroused by the sight. Something in Liam’s utter focus on the dough, and his masterful hands kneading it to whatever he wants from it, makes Zayn pay attention intently. “So the goal of kneading dough is to make the bread come out light and airy and activate the gluten. Gluten is the heart, but yeast is the brain of bread.”

 

That seems like a very poetic way of thinking about something Zayn’s only ever heard associated with “infection” before.

 

“It’s also essential if you’re doing a plait bread or several loaves from one batch because you want it to be elastic and malleable after kneading.” Liam gives it a few more rolls across the table where it’s barely sticking anymore, looking more and more like dough Zayn’s seen before. “Okay, give it a try.”

 

“What? No you’re doing great.”

 

Liam laughs, “Course I am. I knead dough every day. But you’re learning so go on.” Liam grabs his hands and places them over the dough. He’s not standing behind him, arms around his waist but it feels like he should be and Zayn’s distracted by the warmness of his hands either way.

 

“Now you want to fold it towards you from the part away from your body.” Liam taps the outer edge of the dough, and Zayn gently grasps it and folds it over towards himself. It’s nowhere near as controlled or smooth as when Liam does it but it seems to work. “Now pound it down and out. I like to take a wider stance and use a lot of my upper body strength for it. But I’ve seen smaller people jump if necessary, whatever works just flatten the fold out.”

 

Zayn strengthens his stance and pushes down and out like he’s rolling a rolling pin across it, and Liam grasps his wrists to stop him when it gets to a certain height. “Okay now turn the dough, you might need to flour the counter beneath it again if it’s sticking when you pick it up.” Zayn turns it easily, and Liam makes a pleased noise. “Alright and then fold it again, and push down and out.” He does it a second time, the motion feeling a bit more natural already.

 

“Like this?” He asks quietly, for reassurance. He’s glad he’s learning this at home with just Liam and not in a classroom with picky teachers and competitive students. It’s nice, and Liam’s close to his side giving him an encouraging smile.

 

“Yeah you’re doing great. You’re going to steal my job.”

 

“What next?” Zayn asks after several more minutes of kneading the dough, and when his arms have started to ache from the exertion. This is harder than he’s ever imagined it could be, and he’s suddenly much more in awe of Liam, and his biceps.

 

“We’re going to let it proof and in about two hours we’ll come back and do the next part, you wanna get takeaway for lunch?”

 

* * *

 

Later after Zayn’s proudly texted photos of his first pre-bake doughs to Harry, and therefore Louis, and Niall, Liam uses oven mitts to grab the bread trays pulling them out of the oven. “Wow, they’re better looking than I thought they’d be.”

 

Liam sets the two trays onto the stove top and taps the top. “Look great, Zayn. You did great.” He wraps an arm around Zayn’s narrow waist and pulls him in for a side hug. “We should let them cool a couple minutes but you gotta take a picture for Harry.”

 

“Already on it.” Zayn smiles, pulling out his phone and angling it over the two loaves. “He’s going to cry like a proud Mum. He’s been trying to get me to let him give me culinary lessons for years.”

 

“Oh? Why’d you let me?” Liam asks, waving the oven mitt over the breads to help them cool down.

 

“You’re cuter.” Zayn says, winking when Liam looks up. They’re at a good enough point that Liam just smiles, and rolls his eyes. “Send me the photo too, I’ll hang it up in the café. Your first bread.”

 

Several minutes later after they’ve cleaned up most of the mess, laughing and fooling around, Liam runs a knife along the edges of the loaves and tips them over upside down carefully. The bread comes out easily, steaming nicely still. He taps the bottom, and Zayn hears it hollowly reverberate. “That’s good, then? That it’s hollow.”

 

“Oh, yeah, exactly what you want.”

 

Liam lays it back right side up and carefully cuts it horizontally, a thick slide falling off. “Mm, that looks good.”

 

“It’s fantastic, this is a great loaf, Zayn.” Zayn doesn’t remind him that without Liam’s help it would have been a right disaster, but instead watches him tear off a piece. He holds it up to Zayn’s mouth for him, which Zayn doesn’t protest, opening his mouth and letting Liam push it past his lips. It’s light and delicious and melts on his tongue warmly.

 

“Oh wow.” Zayn says, letting Liam feed him another piece. “That’s ace.”

 

Liam smiles, and pushes in to kiss Zayn on the cheek, just a few inches from his mouth. It’s quick, and sweet like they’re back in secondary and trading kisses by their lockers. “You did great.”

 

“Thank you,” Zayn says, wanting to kiss Liam but letting this gentle moment stay as innocent as it is. He wants to devour Liam, wants to strip him of his clothes and see every inch of him, touch every tattoo – but this is a simple moment and he _wants_ it to stay that way. They have time to get there.

 

\--

 

“So Harry is supposed to be meeting us, but he just texted me to say that he’s held up in a meeting.” Liam says when he shows up to the booth Zayn’s commandeered at a pub near their flat. He’s been there for about twenty minutes, watching as the pub fills up with people wanting to drink their Monday away. “He might not make it at all, you know about this?”

 

Zayn shakes his head, “He didn’t say anything at work. Niall can’t come either; his Mum came for a surprise visit last night.”

 

“Hmm, well.” Liam shrugs, and slides into the other side of the booth. Zayn’s bought him a pint already, the glass sweating on the greasy wood table. The pub is getting louder, not exactly the place where Zayn can ask how he feels about being officially divorced. Liam takes a gulp of his beer, lips pink and wet.

 

Today had been intended to be a sort of lads’ night to help Liam deal with the fact that by morning Sophia would be back to being a Smith instead of a Payne, but with just Zayn, it feels more uncomfortable. When he looks around the pub he realizes it’s a slightly younger crowd than them, the type of crowd where their Monday drinking is less of a coping mechanism and more because they don’t know it’s Monday.

 

“Niall’s Mum came from pretty far.” Liam says loudly over the noise of the pub. “Mullingar’s not close.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn coughs, voice barely loud enough to be heard. “’S why I told him to not worry about tonight. His family don’t get to visit much because Mullingar’s far.”

 

They settle back into an uncomfortable silence, which at least Zayn knows comes from the loudness of the pub rather than anything he did. Liam looks like he wants to talk but then another wave of noise from the crowd watching a football game will come, and he’ll drink more of his beer instead.

 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Zayn asks, as a lull takes over during commercials and bathroom breaks.

 

“Yeah,” Liam nods eagerly, chugging most of the rest of his beer and standing up. He’s still in an Espresso You Deserve t-shirt under his coat. “Let’s get dinner somewhere I’m not stepping on peanut shells all night.”

 

They head out of the pub and down the street, the fading evening light washing over their faces and blinding their eyes. It’s always strange how the last seconds of sunlight are some of the brightest.

 

There’s a small Mum and Pop’s shop Zayn knows that sells a fairly good curry around the corner, and Liam agrees readily when he offers to go there. It doesn’t feel quite right to ask about the last mediation meeting when they’re strolling past homeless people and surrounded by crowds on the pavement, so Zayn just holds onto it until they’re settled with food at a folding table in the small restaurant.

 

“So…”

 

“We signed the last paperwork. No alimony, no children to argue custody for, not even a pet that she wants.” Liam sighs, shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth. Zayn waits, eating cautiously.

 

Liam wipes his mouth, and sighs. “By tomorrow it’ll be like it never happened. Closest thing to annulment we could have got.”

 

“That’s good though.” Zayn says firmly. “A fresh start will be good for both of you.”

 

“I just…don’t want to pretend like it _never_ happened.” Zayn pats his hand where it rests on the table, and Liam flips it over and entwines their fingers. It’s definitely a step out of the friendly zone they’ve been working so hard to settle into, but it feels good so Zayn lets it happen. They’re friends now, Zayn feels confident of that, but now he doesn’t know where they’re going. Is he allowed to pull? If he did, would he be able to bring them back to the flat without it being weird, or without rubbing them in Liam’s face?

 

As Liam eats quietly, seemingly lost in thought, Zayn realizes those thoughts aren’t relevant anyway. He doesn’t want to pull anyone else, just _Liam_.

 

But Liam’s literally just signed the divorce papers, and anything Zayn does now is stepping on vulnerable nerves. He has to wait for Liam to come to him.

 

“Let’s go somewhere, lets do something.” Liam says suddenly, eyes brighten, shifting in his seat. Well, he didn’t have to wait long.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t want to spend the night sad,” Liam drags Zayn up from the table, and he reaches for his container of curry which he’d barely started before Liam can pull him away from the table. “Lets go to the beach, our beach.”

 

He’s got Zayn’s hand still in his, standing just a few inches away, probably scandalizing the woman behind the counter. “Liam – “

 

“I’m glad the guys didn’t show up.” Liam whispers, other hand coming up to cup Zayn’s chin. “I just want to be with _you_.”

 

It’s a pretty statement, flowery and false from anyone other than Liam. But the brightness to Liam’s eyes, and the softness of his touch, makes Zayn shiver in the plenty warm restaurant. “Okay.” Zayn nods, breaking eye contact to study the soft shape of Liam’s mouth. “Yeah, alright. We gotta get my car, and then we can go.”

 

Liam nods, not letting go of Zayn’s hand, his curry bowl the only thing between them.

 

* * *

 

By the time they get there it’s completely dark, but out here away from the city the stars are bright and the moon lights the sand. Liam seems high off the divorce, smiling at Zayn and never letting go of his hand.

 

“You seem happy.” Zayn points out as they stand with their feet in the ice cold water. He’s going to catch a cold, and sniffle pitifully for weeks, but it’s worth it for Liam’s warm palm against his and the chime of his laughter when Zayn splashes him. Liam steps deeper into the water, yelping when a small gust drives it up to where his pants are rolled at the knee and soaks them through.

 

They walk out of the water, Zayn jumping on the spot trying to get the feeling back in his legs. The water is freezing but the night is unseasonably warm, the wind gusts dragging rare cold blasts across a warm beach. “I _feel_ happy.” Liam says, smiling up at the sky, the moon lighting all the sharp attractive curves of his face. Zayn gets that urge to kiss him again, to worship him. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I shouldn’t feel happy the night my marriage is ending.”

 

“Babe, you’re allowed to feel anything you want.” Zayn says, pulling Liam into him and spinning him around till they’re foolishly dancing around in the sand, stumbling when their bare feet dig in and sink.

 

Liam pulls him in tight, till they’re flush against each other, wet cold ankles entwined. Zayn can’t see as much this close, but he can feel Liam’s pulse where his fingers rest against his wrist, and he can hear his breathing, and smell that special perfume of freshly baked bread and warmth. That’s what Liam’s always smelt like; warmth.

 

How do you describe that though? Even to himself, Zayn’s not sure what he means but it’s the only thing that fits. Liam smells like home, in the way that he’d never be able to explain.

 

“Thank you.” Liam says suddenly, hand stroking at Zayn’s neck.

 

“For what?”

 

“For being here. For being here through everything, when you didn’t need to be.” Liam kisses him on the forehead, the gesture somehow even more intimate than if he’d kissed him on the mouth. He pulls away, hand still firmly entwined with Zayn’s, and pulls him to sit down just past where the tide touches. Liam looks out to the water, eyes bright but distant.

 

“You know…” Zayn starts, tracing the lines of Liam’s hand tattoo. “I’ve never replied to anyone privately before. Never cared enough.”

 

“What do you mean? As Aunt Mariam?” Liam asks, crooked gentle smile on his face. His knee settles against Zayn’s, their skin touching everywhere it can.

 

“Yeah. _Never_.” Zayn answers, looking down at the sand. “Just you.”

 

“Just me?” Liam asks, and Zayn nods, looking somewhere by Liam’s ear. He’s told Liam any number of personal things, but something about admitting this lays him out flat and vulnerable. That one tipsy moment of humanity had led them here, and Zayn feels like Liam can tell what he’s saying without him saying. That they’re meant to be, that something stronger than them drew them here.

 

Liam leans in slowly enough that Zayn doesn’t realize the implications till he’s within a few inches of Zayn’s face, features obscured in the darkness. “You sure?” He breathes the words into Liam’s mouth, their lips brushing softly. Liam nods, he can feel it in the slight shift of their mouths against each other. Everywhere they touch suddenly seems like it’s been lit up, brighter than all the boring points where Liam’s not touching him.

 

Their mouths meet slowly, the first kiss sending shivers down Zayn’s spine. It’s better, immensely more intense, then their only other kiss though Zayn remembers that one fondly. Liam’s hand is firm and guiding where it cradles the side of his head and moves around to grip the back of his neck. Zayn slides his hand beneath the collar of Liam’s jacket, stroking the soft skin of his collarbones and neck, feeling a chain there.

 

Liam’s mouth is as soft and plush as Zayn’s fantasized, each kiss moving into another like they’ve always done this. It’s foolish, it’s stupidly romantic, but Zayn can’t help but think they were made for each other.

 

One of Liam’s hands moves into his hair and pulls, their mouths breaking apart around a rough moan from Zayn. The sound rolls out of his throat, masculine, and guttural, and surprising. He hadn’t realized how much he liked that, Liam awakening it in him.

 

“Fuck,” Zayn sighs helplessly against Liam’s mouth, breath heavy. He needs more, he needs Liam all around him, inside him.

 

“Zayn – “ Liam groans, biting Zayn’s lip and kissing him desperately like he’s trying to communicate something. Like he wants to ask for more too but doesn’t remember how, Zayn can relate. He’s almost forgotten what language is, lost in the feel of Liam’s warm skin and gentle mouth.

 

They fall back into the sand, Zayn sliding a leg over Liam’s lap to straddle him, their hips pressed together. He can feel Liam hard beneath his jeans, and he grinds against him absently. How big is he? Is he cut? Does he curve?

 

How would he feel inside him?

 

“I need you.” Zayn whispers, hair falling into his face as he hovers over Liam, tattooed hands pressing bruises into his hip bones where his shirt has ridden up. Liam tries to pull him back down, tugging at his wrist and arching up to his mouth. Zayn offers him one more deep, lingering kiss, mapping the way Liam’s mouth tastes to always remember.

 

He wants to feel Liam everywhere, but he knows its not that easy. With a girl, maybe impromptu beach sex would be possible, but if he wants Liam inside him he’ll have to wait.

 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let Liam leave the beach without having seen him come. In the darkness Zayn can just barely see his rosy cheeks, the glint of sweat pooling above his lip and highlighting his cheekbones. It’s cold but the air between them is sweltering. “Sit up.” Zayn commands, pushing Liam’s coat down his shoulders and helping him get his arms free. He can feel the hair stand up on his arms, and Zayn runs his palms up and down them to warm them.

 

He can’t get Liam naked on the beach, as much as he wants to roll under the moonlight with him, it’s too cold, so he peppers kisses up his arms to his neck. His hands run up under Liam’s shirt, feeling the grooves of his stomach and the expanse of soft skin.

 

Liam’s got his hands shoved up under Zayn’s jacket and shirt, gripping his skin tight. His breath hitches sharply, panting unevenly as Zayn sucks a mark onto his neck. There’s so much he wants, to touch, to do, to make Liam feel good but he’s limited by the circumstance. He wants to lay Liam naked out in the sand and make his toes curl, make him moan so loud the moon blushes.

 

He settles for tracing the skin lightly with his fingers and unbuckling Liam’s belt. “Oh god, Zayn.” Liam moans when he drags the zipper down, fingers brushing the hard cock beneath visibly straining against his boxers.

 

Zayn’s knees settle into the sand harder when he slides down to Liam’s hips. He taps Liam’s hips so he’ll lift and Zayn can yank his pants and jeans down. The head of his cock slips out, and it’s rosy with blood and proudly erect. There’s nothing hesitant or unsure in the way Liam jerks his hips up towards Zayn’s mouth.

 

“You sure?” Zayn asks teasingly, gripping Liam’s cock gently, softly, barely there. He can tell by the tension in Liam’s legs and stomach that he’s being driven slowly insane, Zayn loves it.

 

“Fuck you.” Liam laughs, breath hitching in his chest when Zayn presses his lips to the thick cock in his hand. It’s not outrageously thick or long, but it’s nice and hard on his palm and Zayn tastes wetness on his lips already. Liam tastes sweet and Zayn pulls more of him into his mouth, feeling rusty and clumsy. He doesn’t seem to mind by the long drawn out groan Zayn’s tongue on his slit causes.

 

Liam’s hand slips into Zayn’s hair, firm on his head but not pushing hard, just urging him on eagerly. His cock leaks in Zayn’s mouth, tongue swirling at the slit and scooping it up the moment it comes. He closes his mouth around the head, hand moving on the rest of the shaft smoothly, and he sucks, tongue playing under the crown. Liam’s hand slips to caress his cheekbone, accentuated by him sucking and the sharp lighting of the moon and stars.

 

Zayn moves up and down, his jaw aching pleasantly as Liam squirms, kicking up sand around them. He runs a hand up Liam’s abdomen and chest, settling above his heart where he can feel it trying to beat out of his chest. He fists Liam’s cock faster, twisting on the upstroke till his hand hits his chin where his mouth is stretched wide and raw.

 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna come.” Liam exhales heavily, voice breaking on the words. Zayn wishes he could see more, he wants to see every twitch of Liam’s face under bright warm sunlight, under the dim lamps of their flat’s living room. Zayn pulls off, hand jerking clumsily as he climbs up to kiss Liam messy and dirty, mouth raw against Liam’s. He bends to kiss the soft skin at Liam’s ear, and whispers.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Liam groans, biting Zayn’s ear and rolling the lobe between his teeth and tongue. It sends shivers down Zayn’s spine. “Fuck.” Zayn sits back on his knees, hand still on Liam’s flushed and hot cock but not moving. His other goes to his own jeans, unbuttoning them and unzipping. He’s careful pulling out his own cock, cool air rushing over the hot head. Liam’s hand dances up his jeans, touching what he can reach with light feathery brushes.

 

“C’mere.” He murmurs, pulling Zayn closer to him by the belt loop. Zayn shuffles a bit higher and kisses him again, mouths moving together sloppily, lazily, both of them drunk off the other. “Babe.” Liam whispers the endearment into Zayn’s mouth, his hand wrapping full around Zayn’s cock and pulling hard enough to get him close within a few seconds.

 

He’s been on edge the entire time, maybe since the first moment they stepped onto the sand, but now he feels like he might come right away with Liam touching him. His head is spinning, he’s high off of Liam’s skin, and scent, and voice.

 

He slides back down Liam’s body, arse in the air and braced mostly on just his knees as he jerks himself off with one hand and Liam with the other. Liam groans loudly when Zayn sucks him back into his mouth as much as he can, lips stretched wide.

 

Liam’s breathing grows heavier and heavier, his stomach heaving. He whispers Zayn’s name like a prayer, hips pushing up into Zayn’s mouth, come saturating his senses. It’s not poetic how Zayn comes in the sand, hips jerking against his own fist. Breath hiccupping in his chest as he tries not to choke, pressing down till his mouth and throat are full of Liam.

 

“Oh fuck, I can’t – “ Liam’s hand shakes on Zayn’s neck, and he pulls off, swallowing the mouthful of come. Liam’s cock slaps wet against his abdomen when Zayn lets go, tucking himself back into his jeans.

 

He crawls up to kiss him, palm on Liam’s cheek. “You good?” Zayn asks, nuzzling into Liam, feeling more affectionate post-orgasm than he usually is. He wants to lay with Liam till the sun comes up, wants it to wash over them, wants to watch it reflect off Liam’s smile.

 

“I’m so good.” Liam whispers in Zayn’s ear, smile pressed to Zayn’s cheek. “You?”

 

“I might have lost the feeling in my toes.” Zayn laughs, collapsing down onto the sand next to Liam but never losing contact, leg over Liam’s and hands entwined. “Do you…want to go to the motel? The one from…”

 

Liam turns to look at him, smile brighter than the moon’s light can depict. “Yeah.”


	10. ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explicit sexual content + zayn/liam become boyfriends officially

Zayn can’t stop touching him, drunk off of Liam’s mouth, and hands, and perfect body. He can't imagine there will ever be a time where he can keep his hands off Liam. They barely get to the car before Zayn shoves him against the door and kisses him, hungry for more, hungry to strip away their clothes again and forget the world.

 

The thing is though, that he’s only had one relationship with a guy before, and sex with guys only slightly more – not for lack of attraction or because of shame about his sexuality, but mostly because Zayn’s relationships with women have been fleeting as well.

 

He hasn’t found anyone he wants to put _all_ his effort into, all the energy a good relationship requires, go all in for them. Until Liam.

 

His hands shoved down Liam’s pants in a moonlit parking lot he realizes he’s already thinking of tomorrow, of their flat, of their friends. He’s thinking about holding Liam’s hand during pub nights with the lads, and going to Espresso You Deserve and getting a latte and a kiss over the counter. About them sleeping in the same bed, reading or watching tv or just laying there quietly with Bruce or Negasonic, domestic. He wants all in.

 

The desire he feels for Liam, especially the non-physical desires, are slightly terrifying, but exhilarating at the same time. As much as they make him scared, make him want to run, they also make him want to stay. 

 

“Come on,” Liam says, biting Zayn’s lip and dancing away from him to get into the car. Zayn goes around to the other side and climbs in, knees slightly weak.

 

He can’t stop himself from reaching out, one hand entwined with Liam’s on the center console, mouth finding his whenever they sparingly have to stop. There’s a traffic light in the middle of nowhere where they catch a red light stopping traffic for ghost cars, and Zayn lasts a millisecond before his mouth is on Liam’s neck. He sucks, and bites, and kisses the bruises he leaves on sensitive skin.

 

Liam has to tap him when the light finally changes to green, to remind him there's a world out there past his skin.

 

* * *

 

When they get to their room, not the same one as last time but designed and decorated the exact same, Zayn realizes he has no idea if Liam’s ever done this before. He knows that Liam is attracted to men, or at least Zayn hopes so since he’s had his mouth on Liam’s cock, but he also knows that he and Sophia have been together since school. Generally, men who marry their high school sweethearts don’t have much experience.

 

Liam doesn’t seem uncomfortable, placing the quick bag he’d packed when they went to get his car on the bed and taking off his jacket. Zayn makes himself move, peeling off his coat and turning the heat up. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and he doesn’t know why they’re stuck. Liam and he are at the point, right? Where they can ask each other anything?

 

Especially something as important as, hey, have you ever had sex with a man?

 

Liam kicks off his shoes, and finally looks at Zayn who is hovering near the entryway. “You okay?” He asks, soft endeared smile on that beautiful mouth. He sits down on the bed, leaning back on his hands. He looks casual, and safe, and it loosens the anxiety in Zayn’s stomach massively.

 

“Yeah.” Zayn says, voice quiet. He sits down next to Liam on the edge of the bed, and kisses him. It’s easy, like they’ve been kissing each other for years, and it settles Zayn completely. When they pull away, Liam’s palm warm on his neck, Zayn feels more calm than he ever has, calmer than when he’s high, calmer than he is when he can sleep in late on a weekend. Calmer than he even feels back home, there’s no agitation. “Have you ever had sex with a man before?”

 

Liam doesn’t look away, and his hand lingers on Zayn’s shoulder, thumb stroking his collarbone. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, or offended. “No, I was with Sophia.” Zayn nods, a surge of luck running through him, thinking about how he’ll be the first. Virginity doesn’t mean anything, especially since Liam’s not one really, but it’s nice to know that this is special. It feels special, Zayn feels like he’s never touched anyone as important as Liam before.

 

“That’s okay.” Zayn assures him, feeling better now that he knows, now that he can be in control.

 

“I mean,” Liam starts, blushing just a little at the top of his cheekbones. “Course I’ve seen porn before, and I’ve got an idea – “

 

“You watching gay porn in your wife’s house?” Zayn asks, teasing. Liam turns brighter red at that, and he kisses him to stop it. It’s strange that it doesn’t bother him to hear about Sophia, not that her name hasn’t been said around their flat frequently in the last few weeks. But it’s different now that he’s planning to make love to her husband, at least for one more night.

 

As Liam clings to him, nails scratching red into his neck and mouth wet, Zayn thinks how lucky he is, to gain something so good from her mistake. Her loss.

 

“What do you want?” Zayn asks, breathing the words hotly against Liam’s mouth. “You wanna fuck me?”

 

“Shit.” Liam curses, biting Zayn’s lip before pulling away, a playful smile on his face. Zayn finds himself suddenly flat on the bed, Liam’s hands pressing firmly on his biceps to hold him down. He straddles Zayn’s lap, weight heavy as he leans down to bite hard at the base of Zayn’s neck.

 

He can feel himself starting to get hard already, just by Liam’s smell, and the slight sandy reminder to his hands, and the weight of his arse on Zayn’s lap. “Do you want me to?” He asks, voice now hot and intimate against the curve of Zayn’s ear. “You want my cock?”

 

To be honest he hadn’t expected this, he had expected intensity, he had expected intimacy. He’d expected to need Liam, but he hadn’t thought about how hot it would be to hear Liam dirty talk to him or just how much his body lights with fire when Liam’s mouth touches him. “ _Yes_.” Zayn moans, helpless under Liam’s firm hold, hands clasped to Liam’s forearms, the farthest they can go.

 

“Zayn,” Liam gasps, seeming surprised by himself, by how 0 to 100 they’ve gone since they got into the room. It doesn’t surprise Zayn at all, he’s been burning for Liam for what seems like forever. He’d jumped for it on the beach, and he’s just as hungry now.

 

“I brought lube, sorry for presuming.” Zayn apologies, not sounding apologetic at all because he’s not really. He’d hesitated when he’d put it in his bag, not knowing where the night would lead or if Liam wanted it to go where _he_ did, but did it anyway. Now with his cock hard in his jeans and Liam’s warmth all around him he’s glad he followed the impulse.

 

“Don’t apologize, you read my mind, Xavier.” Liam grins, letting Zayn go and climbing off the bed to go to Zayn’s backpack which he’d dropped at the door. Zayn’s confused for a moment, and then he realizes, groaning and covering his face.

 

“Oh my god, right now?” He laughs helplessly, the air lightening in the room. “I can’t believe you just made an X Men reference when my cock’s hard.”

 

“Is that going to be a rule?” Liam says, tossing the bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed near Zayn’s head. He nudges Zayn’s foot, reminding him that he still has his shoes on, and sits back down on the bed. “No X Men references in bed?”

 

Maybe he’s reading too much into it, or maybe just enough, but it’s nice to hear that they’re going to have relationship rules. Zayn can set down the law about Liam leaving his socks everywhere, now that they’re more than roommates.

 

“You’re a dork.” Zayn laughs, kicking off his shoes and then pushing Liam down onto the bed like he’d done to him. “I like it.”

 

When they kiss this time it’s less desperate and needy, but no less hot. It feels rather like kissing someone you know you can’t lose; someone you have the time to worship. He doesn’t need to rush or devour Liam all at once, he can savor it.

 

Zayn sits back to pull off his shirt and Liam’s hands are there immediately to warm the skin with feather light touches. Presses a kiss to Zayn’s nipple, mouth lingering, teeth sharp and Zayn wonders what Liam would look like blowing him. That can wait though. “Get your shirt off,” Zayn commands, unbuckling his belt.

 

He gets distracted from unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans when Liam’s revealed his chest, and he leans down to suck and bite kisses along his collarbones. His palms stroke across the planes of Liam’s chest, tweaking his nipples playfully and adoring the hard earned muscles. He’s beautiful, and Zayn’s glad he can finally see it all in the motel room’s light. The moonlight hadn’t done him justice, he’s a work of art.

 

He feels hands at his groin, helping him out of his jeans and he gets up from the bed to pull everything off, dragging Liam with him. It’s not easy making out as they undress but they make it work, touching every new stretch of skin as it’s revealed. Zayn pulls them tight to each other, cocks pressing and rubbing together as they move, one of his hands gripping Liam’s arse. It’s larger than his own, and he can’t wait for the day he gets to see it move on his cock.

 

But tonight is his turn, and he pulls Liam down onto the bed with him, spreading his legs so Liam can settle between them. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Liam groans against Zayn’s mouth, propped on his elbow and the other hand jerking Zayn’s cock.

 

“You are too.” Zayn says sincerely, hands pressed to Liam’s back. One of them slithers down across the bed to grab the lube, and he pushes the bottle against Liam’s chest. Liam sits back, jerking him a few more times before popping the lid. Zayn feels like he should be a bit more self conscious with his legs spread out over Liam’s lap and his body open to someone who hasn’t seen it before. But he’s far more focused on the flex of Liam’s arms, and the way his brow furrows with concentration so cutely.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re doing fine.” Zayn assures, pulling Liam down towards him a little bit once he’s found Zayn’s hole and pressed in. It’s been more than a little while since someone’s touched him there, and he doesn’t usually have the energy to do it himself, so it burns a bit. Liam pushes in slowly, though, surprisingly intuitive to when Zayn can take more. He presses up to kiss Liam, his finger moving deeper with the movement and drawing a gasp from Zayn’s mouth.

 

“Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” Liam whispers gently against Zayn’s mouth, finger pressing in deeper till the rest of his hand meets Zayn’s arse. He moves it in and out gently, the stretch smooth and gradual enough that it doesn’t hurt until Liam pulls out completely and pushes back in with two.

 

“Fuck, more lube.” Zayn whines, hands pressed flat and folded to his own chest as he tries to relax his body. His mind is calm but his body is unfamiliar with the intrusion. Liam pulls back immediately, easing out and adding more lube, the cold shock sending shivers up and down Zayn’s spine when presses them back.

 

“That good?” Liam asks, voice concerned but also aroused, breathy like he’s trying to be serious and take care of Zayn but is overwhelmed. Zayn’s in the same spot, panting as the pain turns to pleasure. His back arches when Liam jerks him off as he pushes the two in, and he can’t help but moan, the sound radiating off into the otherwise quiet room. Everything is zoomed in, until the only thing he can smell is lube and Liam, and all he can see is the strand of hair over Liam’s face and his hands between Zayn’s legs, and all he hears is Liam’s voice praising him and his own moans.

 

Liam stretches him deftly like he has experience but Zayn knows he doesn’t. It drives him insane to think maybe Liam has practiced before on himself.

 

“Fuck, okay. Come on.” Zayn says after he’s nearly completely gone and departed from his body, Liam’s fingers deep inside him and hitting that spot. His palm is sweaty on Liam’s shoulder, his other laying weak against his stomach which is wet with pre-come. It’ll hurt to take Liam, but he wants that little bit of pain. Pain makes things real, and he knows it’ll pass.

 

“Are you sure?” Liam asks, three fingers freezing inside Zayn just a millimeter off his prostate and making him see stars. He pushes at Liam’s wrist till he pulls out, and weakly puts the condom in his hand. “That was enough?”

 

“I want you.” Zayn moans, voice already reedy and tired. He grabs Liam’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, trying to convey exactly how good Liam’s made him feel with his mouth.

 

“I want you too,” Liam groans, kissing places on Zayn’s face no fuck has ever kissed, the corner of his eyes, the soft underside of his chin, his temples. He’s gentle with Zayn, like he might disappear or fall apart, like he’s precious.

 

“Come on,” Zayn urges him, and Liam pulls back to roll the condom on, giving himself a few steady thrusts into his fist that make his mouth drop open. Zayn watches him, sweaty inner thighs pressed to Liam’s hips and cock leaking wetly on his stomach. He’s ready, he’s been ready since they met.

 

The first push is intense for them both, as Zayn’s body fights to keep Liam out, who is fighting to get in. Liam’s hand, the one not guiding his cock in, entwines with Zayn’s despite their sweaty palms.

 

Zayn's head tosses to the side, eyes blurry as they stare blankly at the motel room wall, body overcome with pleasure bridging on pain, and pain bridging on pleasure. He can’t think of anything but Liam, and that’s what gets him through, his body relaxing enough for Liam to settle against him fully, deep inside him.

 

“Fuck,” Liam moans, long and drawn out, voice husky. “Zayn, my god, I – “

 

“Feel good?” Zayn whispers, dislodging their hands so he can pull Liam down towards his chest, and hold him. His arms go under Liam’s, gripping his rib cage, the skin hot but shivering.

 

“I can’t – “

 

“It’s okay.” Zayn moans, Liam’s body just barely moving but already feeling like too much and not enough. Sex has always been like a supernova, his body, his soul being blown apart but pulled back together simultaneously. “Just stay for a moment.” Liam buries his face in Zayn’s neck, peppering sweet, gentle kisses against his skin.

 

They stay pressed together for several moments, lingering touches and kisses passing between them until Zayn shifts his hips hard down towards Liam and sets fire to them both. It seems like that thrust wakes Liam from his pleasured daze, and he props himself up on his elbows, mouth still close enough to kiss, and pupils blown. “Can I?” Liam asks from between gritted teeth, body shaking lightly as he strains to not move even though his body wants to.

 

“ _Fuck me_.” Zayn moans, the sound louder than he’d expected, filling the room with pleasure, the moment Liam pulls out of him and pushes back in.

 

“God, Zayn,” Liam gasps, head dropping to Zayn’s chest as his hips start to move faster, more intently. “You feel amazing.”

 

Zayn’s hand shakes when he cups the back of Liam’s head, and he can’t seem to find his voice, so he hopes the tight grip of his fingers conveys how good it feels. How much he wants Liam, how much he needs him.

 

“Shift your hips downward.” Zayn finally says after several minutes of Liam just _barely_ missing the spot inside him that he knows will make him come, will make him see stars. Liam moves immediately but he’s still off, he can’t quite hit it straight on. “Aim up, aim up.”

 

Liam follows his order once more, sweat starting to well up on his hairline, mouth wet and pink, eyes focused on Zayn’s body. He’s shifting around, which is making Zayn’s eyes roll back as it is, but he braces himself differently, sitting back further, and there it is. Zayn groans, hand twisting into his own hair, back arching. “Fuck, right there.” He pans, hand on Liam’s stomach.

 

Now that he knows he’s doing good, better than, Liam loses his last hesitation and thrusts firm and fast against Zayn’s arse, hands tight on his hips. Zayn can’t think, almost all the blood in his body has gone to making his cock hard, and anything left over is focused on the flex of Liam’s muscles and the thickness of his cock inside him and how much he loves him.

 

Because he does. He feels it in the way Liam is roughly fucking him, but he makes sure to rarely lose eye contact, to stroke Zayn’s stomach when a rush of pleasure makes his abdomen constrict, to hold his hand when he can manage to brace himself on just one. He feels it in how rushing towards orgasm feels almost insignificant compared to holding Liam in his arms, cradling him with his thighs, feeling his heartbeat.

 

“Come on, baby.” Liam whispers, when Zayn’s body starts to grow taut and strung out on the line, cock twitching in his palm. “Come for me.”

 

And Zayn does, because he has permission, because he knows by the tight shake of Liam’s voice and body that he’s just as close, because he’s been flying for so long he’s ready. He comes white across their chests, thighs tight to Liam’s hips even as they continue to thrust into him, driving him through it. Liam collapses onto Zayn’s chest, hips jerking one, two, three more times against his arse till he comes with a loud, ragged groan and bites Zayn’s shoulder.

 

“Wow,” Liam breathes, head on Zayn’s chest, face turned away. Zayn can’t help it, the giggle bubbles out of his tired, worn out throat and he grins down at Liam, almost like he can’t believe he’s there.

 

“Good, then?” Zayn laughs, winking at Liam when he finally looks up to him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. He pulls out of Zayn which makes them both wince, and Zayn moan quietly, and he ties the condom off, throwing it in the general direction of the rubbish bin by the telly. Then he crawls up Zayn’s body and kisses him hard, pulling away and then diving right back in to kiss him even more hungrily.

 

“You’re amazing.” Liam laughs, voice bright, happy. That’s not the face of a divorcee, or an unhappy man.

 

“I love you.” Zayn whispers against Liam’s lips, anxious butterflies in his stomach when Liam pauses. Then Liam pulls away, sitting back in Zayn’s lap, and his heart falls to his feet. But Liam surprises him by smiling, and taking his hand in his, playing with the fingers like he’s fascinated by such an ordinary part of Zayn.

 

“I love you too.” Liam admits softly, his tone similar to what Zayn’s heard from him when a bake turns out spectacular when he’d put it into the oven expecting something worse. A little surprise, a lot of happiness. “I…genuinely didn’t see you coming. If two years ago someone told me I’d be divorced, but happier than I’ve _ever_ been, I would have told them they were confused.”

 

“You’re happy, then?” Zayn asks, fiddling with Liam’s hand, fingers dancing across heartlines, tapping against engraved wrinkles of skin that spell out soul mates and prophecies. “With _me_?”

 

Liam spreads their fingers apart, palms flat against each other before they entwine tightly. “I guess we never really talked about it, huh. Started sort of upside down, didn’t we?” He muses, sounding like he’s mostly talking to himself. Then he looks at Zayn with a stern expression, and asks, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

 

Zayn ponders the question, and then smiles, “Do you want to be mine?”

 

“Can never get a straight answer with you journalist types.” Liam pouts, pulling Zayn up from the pillows, arms going around his neck. Zayn’s hands settle on Liam’s waist, gentle against soft skin. “Yes, I do.”

 

Zayn smirks cockily and makes a playful show out of Liam’s answer, and gets punched in the shoulder for his efforts. “Stop teasing or I’ll take it back. Oh!” Liam gasps when Zayn pushes him back onto the bed, between Liam’s hips now, hands on his wrists.

 

“Don’t take it back.” Zayn murmurs, kissing Liam’s forehead softly. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

 

“Good.” Liam says firmly, though his smile pressed to Zayn’s jaw gives him away. “Now I’m exhausted, thanks to you.”

 

“Mm, I’ll take the blame for that anytime.” Zayn smirks, pulling the comforter they’d dislodged over them haphazardly, and curling up behind Liam.

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s about to head off to the café to meet Liam for a quick lunch when the postman arrives, his van visible outside the complex. Immediately the nerves begin, it’s been more than long enough for Kerrang to respond to his letter, perhaps out of the realm of possibility by now, but maybe today is the day.

 

“Oh man, Negasonic, do you think this is it?” He asks as he refills her food dish, even though it’s already ¾ full. Bruce comes over too, wrapping his tail around Zayn’s wrist till he grabs the catnip treats. “Good vibes, right Brucie?”

 

Once the van leaves Zayn grabs his wallet and keys, kisses Negasonic and Bruce goodbye, and runs down the stairs to the mailroom. His key gets stuck in the box and he kicks the wall in frustration, only managing to hurt his big toe in the process.

 

Finally, it opens, and he pulls out a thin stack of envelopes. None of them are from Kerrang, which is upsetting, but there at the bottom is something almost more interesting.  

 

Matt, scrawled in Liam’s familiar handwriting, with no return address because it would obviously be the exact same as the delivery address. Zayn turns it over and rips it open, a piece of yellow legal paper from the pad Zayn keeps in the kitchen for voicemails and notes falling out into his palm. He unfolds it, wide smile on his face.

 

“ _Hello, Aunt Mariam_.” It begins, as they all tend to do.

 

“ _I’m writing to you because I am officially, in fact have been for several weeks now, divorced._” Here Liam’s underlined the word and drawn a smiley face next to it. Zayn blows air out his nose amused. “ _But I’m not single, no, I’ve met a man. I think you’d like him, he’s handsome, and he’s funny, and he saved my café as well so I suppose he’s also a real life super hero. His name is Zayn Malik, I’m sure you’ll be hearing that name soon in Kerrang or another famous magazine_.“

 

Zayn has to stop to close his eyes and calm the stupid beating of his heart. Then he continues, biting his lip. “ _He’s wildly talented, though I don’t think he quite understands that. I’ll keep telling him until he does. Anyway, I’m not writing to gush about my boyfriend though I could, I suppose I’m not writing for any other reason than to tell you that for once I don’t have any problems._

_My café is doing extremely well. I have several new, and slightly annoying, friends. My ex-wife Sophia is happy off in Milan working on her career, which doesn’t hurt me anymore, I want her to be successful. I’m in love, with a man who loves me back just as much._

_I don’t think anyone has ever written to you telling you that they don’t need advice, have they? Maybe I’m the first._

_I just wanted to say thank you, Mariam. You have truly changed my life._

_Turn around,_

_Liam_.”

 

Zayn spins on the spot, eyes wide (and perhaps glistening a bit, don’t tell Harry), and finds Liam there, hand resting on the doorjam. He smiles, and Zayn realizes that everything happens for a reason.

 

If Liam had never been married, he would have never written to Aunt Mariam. Zayn would have never written back, never been fired, never stumbled across a little coffee shop on a big London street.

 

Months ago, bitter, cynical Zayn with the broken heart and the seemingly dead end job would have despised the idea of soulmates. But now, he thinks maybe there is some fruit to that tree, some meaning to the idea. It doesn’t mean being perfect for each other, it doesn’t mean meeting straight out of the womb and never looking at anyone else ever again.

 

It just means that you fit, and that when you find that person, things in your life just seem to fit. Even when they don’t, that person makes them better, helps find the missing pieces, helps glue together the broken bits. They make the bright days brighter, and the darker days a little less lonely.

 

“I love you.” Zayn says, the words out of place in their flat’s complex’s mailroom, but they bring a smile to Liam’s lips that seem to stop the rain outside from falling.

 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanna say thank you all so so much for your support and love during this fic, it truly has meant the absolute world to me and i'm sad to see this fic come to an end but its time! the next two chapters will be an epilogue, set some time in the future!


	11. eleven. (epilogue pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we blast forward to three years in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so some negative stuff has happened on tumblr today that really affected my mood and my writing, but i powered through to get you this chapter, and im hopefully going to have the fic finished and the next part of the epilogue out by tomorrow before i go back to classes. i really hope you enjoy it, i love my boys irl and in this au, thank you for being lovely.

**_Three years later_ **

 

“Sir?” A voice asks, jostling his shoulder gently, hesitatingly like he might yell at them. “We’ve arrived in London, you have to deboard, sir.” He pulls out his earbuds, which had stopped playing music during his sleep, and blinks around the empty seats around him. The flight attendant, a pretty woman with almond shaped eyes and a firm but gentle smile, steps back now that he seems to be awake but doesn’t leave until he starts to actually move.

 

“Course, sorry.” He murmurs the apology, gathering the few belongings he’d scattered around his seat and standing up. She moves away, heading back to the front of the plane while he gathers his carry on bags from the overhead. He nods her a thank you when he walks past, duffel slung over his shoulder.

 

As he walks up the walkway to the terminal, the only person left on this flight, he rubs his neck which is tight from sleeping in an awkward position for so many hours. He hasn’t flown this far away from home before, and he’s eager to get back to his flat.

 

Once he’s in the terminal and has a second to turn the airplane mode off on his phone he gets a flood of texts, the majority from Harry asking him about the trip, and the interview, and how the spread is going. He’s been working on a piece with Dr. Dre, a ten-page spread all about his life and music and his views on the future of and present time in the hip hop industry, for the last three months – Harry despite his taste in music not drifting towards rap or hip hop has been extremely excited and invested.

 

Almost as many texts have come in from his editor Maya including the potential covers of the magazine’s issue with Dre’s article, the photoshoot a complete organization of Zayn’s. He’d spent several days with Dre in Compton, photographing and memorializing all the places that had inspired and affected him, all the places and people and circumstances that had created his persona, his career.

 

Soon enough, after one more round of editing, the article will hit shelves and Zayn’s biggest work will be splashed across the world with the name BILLBOARD on it. This success is a far cry from when he’d written for Aunt Mariam, his own name never mentioned, never credited, his work forgotten by the next week’s round of letters.

 

Zayn’s headed down the escalator to get luggage and a taxi when another text comes in, this one actually new, not delayed.

 

“One more day xx.” It says, a photo downloading underneath it. After a second the photo expands and Zayn’s heart constricts as his smile expands. Liam’s on their sofa with Negasonic’s full grown body stretched out across his chest and Bruce resting on his shoulder, white whiskers and chin pressed to his cheek. He looks sleepy like maybe the rain outside has lulled him into taking a mid-day nap, the telly playing quietly in the background filling the quiet of their flat.

 

Zayn’s been ready to go home since the moment he left but now he wants to be there even sooner.

 

Liam doesn’t know that he’s come home early, a surprise he’d not told anyone at all except for his editor who had helped him plan and organize so that he’d be ready to release the article and could take time off right afterwards. Once she finishes editing the pages he’d sent to her before his flights the article will be finished and Zayn will be on a two-month long vacation.

 

Which is perfect, because travelling to America frequently and working long hours at his writing for Billboard hasn’t left much time for him to help with planning their wedding. He’s ready to help Liam finally sort out their flower colors, a task he’d never thought he’d look forward to. He’s also quite looking forward to the month long honeymoon he’s planned.

 

* * *

 

 

He texts Liam back three kissy face emojis, and “Soon” as his taxi sits in traffic, idling just twenty minutes away from the flat and driving Zayn mad. He wants to run home, bounce across the tops of the cars like a superhero and just _be_ with Liam. This trip wasn’t his longest since he got the job with Billboard but it’s painfully hard being away during the wedding planning.

 

Liam’s face timed him as much as possible; when Zayn had missed the cake testing but Liam had moaned exaggeratedly for him to the camera trying each one, when Zayn had missed fitting Negasonic with the collar that will bring their rings down the aisle, when Harry’s daughter Scoria had been fitted for her flower girl dress and had blown bubbles of saliva from her small mouth to the camera. They’re not people to give up on something, especially not as important as family, so they’ve made Zayn’s absence work.

 

But it still sucks.

 

“So,” The taxi driver says after several more minutes of Zayn bouncing his leg anxiously in the back seat, the broken radio spitting over quiet static, and the traffic at a standstill. “Business or pleasure?”

 

“Sorry?” Zayn asks, pulled out of his thoughts of how much he misses kissing Liam.

 

“Your trip.” The taxi driver clarifies.

 

“Oh.” Zayn murmurs. “Business.”

 

“Mm, what do you do?”

 

“I write for a magazine, music magazine.” Zayn says, reluctantly being pulled into the conversation. His phone buzzes, and he flips it over on the seat and smiles when he sees its another selfie but this time Liam’s blowing him a kiss. Those lips are so pink, even in the dim light and low quality, and Zayn wills the traffic to move.

 

“That your wife? Must be missin her something fierce.” He laughs, like he and Zayn are in on a married inside joke.

 

“No, not my wife.” Zayn coughs, debating whether he should tempt getting kicked out of his taxi on the freeway or keep quiet.

 

There’s a pause where Zayn debates and the taxi driver hums, then he peers at Zayn in the rearview mirror. “Husband then?” He must look surprised because the taxi driver laughs. “He must be a good one with that smile on your face.”

 

“He,” Zayn clears his throat, the smile unable to be tamed. “He is great, but we’re not actually husbands yet. We’re getting married in a couple weeks.”

 

“Oh, well salud!” Finally, the traffic starts to move, and Zayn relaxes back into the seat as the driver quiets and focuses on driving.

 

“I’m surprising him,” Zayn offers, surprising himself by chatting without being prompted. “He thinks I’m returning tomorrow.”

 

“Ahhhh,” The taxi driver sighs nostalgically. “I used to do things like that for my wife, but she as impossible to surprise. Always knew before I could get it done!”

 

“That’s rough, mate.” Zayn says, foot tapping against the floor of the car harder as they finally get to their exit. “You probably had a spy.”

 

“Oh, yes.” He nods agreeably. “I never could keep from telling my kids, I’m sure they told their Mum right afterwards. Here they are.” He plucks a bent little photograph off the dashboard and passes it back to Zayn, who takes it and peers at it in the dimming afternoon light. His driver is there with a pretty, kind looking woman who must be his wife and two little girls in front of a humble house.

 

“They’re lovely.” Zayn says, passing the photo back.

 

“Yes, yes, they are.” He pats the photo when he places it back on the dashboard, and then they’re on the final roads down to the apartment. When they get stopped at a red light Zayn seriously considers paying the tab and running home but it changes before he gets his wallet out. “Alright, here you are, son.”

 

Zayn pays the tab and thanks him heartily, thankful he’d gotten a nice guy after such a long, tiring flight. Then he’s running, duffle bouncing against his back. He bounces on the balls of his feet at the elevator, and finally it dings, opening up empty for him to board.

 

At the door Zayn texts Liam asking him to go into their room and look for some random piece of paperwork he knows is buried in his dufflebag. It takes several minutes, during which Zayn thinks about just ditching the surprise, but Liam finally texts him back “Sure babe” and he imagines he can hear him padding down the hall.

 

He hurries to unlock the door, slipping inside as quietly as possible so as not to alert Negasonic whose hearing has started to go in her age even though she’s still so young. Bruce isn’t much for meowing so when he sees Zayn he just watches wide-eyed from his tower. Zayn puts his duffel down quietly in the hall and stands in the hall, waiting for Liam who he can hear rifling around in their room.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he gets it out, Liam’s text flashing up on the screen. “I can’t find it L Anywhere else you think it might be in the flat?”

 

“Maybe the den?” Zayn texts back, smiling giddy and glad he’d waited to go through with the surprise.

 

He hears Liam coming down the hallway and hides behind the wall separating the flat from the entry hallway. Liam goes straight to the Ikea desk Zayn bought forever ago, but now happily shares if Liam needs it, and Zayn waits for him to start rifling through the drawers.

 

“Oy!” He shouts, and immediately starts choking on his own laughter as Liam jumps two feet into the air, spinning around to glare at him.

 

“Zayn! What the bloody – “ He launches himself into Zayn’s arms, slapping him hard on the back but holding him close and tight anyway. Zayn can feel Liam’s pulse when he goes to kiss his neck, and it’s running a mile per minute. “How are you here? What?”

 

Zayn laughs, kissing Liam’s cheek and squeezing him, lifting him off his feet. “I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“You scared the absolute shit out of me, _arse_.” Liam curses, shoving him away but smiling sheepishly. Zayn can’t stay far from him, not when he’s just remembering how good he smells, and how warm he is so he pulls him back into his arms by the hem of Zayn’s rolling stone’s shirt. Negasonic, now alerted to his presence, tries to stand up and climb Zayn, barking happily.

 

He scratches behind her ears, one hand staying on Liam, and says, “Hello, baby, how have you been?”

 

Bruce seems to realize he’s being left out suddenly and comes over, winding between their ankles for attention till Zayn finally reaches down. He cradles Bruce between Liam and himself and presses kisses all over his baby’s face and ears. “How are you? Was he good, was he a sweetheart?”

 

“I don’t think Bruce even knows he has claws; he was loving as ever.” Liam kisses the top of Bruce’s head. “How was the flight? Is the article all finished?”

 

“Everything’s great, babe.” Zayn kisses him over Bruce, who wriggles out and jumps to the floor. “Flight was long, article’s ready to print. And, I missed you.”

 

“I missed you more.” Liam smiles against Zayn’s mouth, arms going around his waist. “I was going to make dinner and clean up the flat before you got home, you ruined my plans.”

 

“Oh?” Zayn asks playfully, grinding his hips just a little against Liam. “I should make that up to you.”

 

“Hm, I think so.” Liam whispers, kissing him softly. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

 

“Me too, babe.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Liam, I can’t do this!” Zayn snaps, voice harsh like it so rarely ever is, hand tight on Liam’s elbow. “I’m not going with you!”

 

“Zayn, you agreed!” Liam snaps back, dragging him though his shoes squeak on the floor.

 

The window pane doors open in front of them and a woman pops her head out, frowning at them. “Are you two going to shout out here all day or come in for your dance lesson?”

 

“I’m leaving – “

 

“No you’re not.” Liam pulls Zayn into the room, stronger than he even looks, and apologizes to their new dance teacher. They get in line with several other couples, and then the teacher, Mrs. Monroe, is going on and on about the beauty and artistry of the waltz.

 

“Why can’t we just slow dance?” Zayn whispers roughly to Liam, resigned to his fate. “We’re good at that, my hands on your arse – “

 

“This is our wedding day, Zayn.” Liam whispers back, eyes still on Mrs. Monroe. “We are going to have the best first dance as a married couple or my name isn’t Liam Payne.”

 

“It won’t be on our wedding day.” Zayn whispers, smiling apologetically when Mrs. Monroe hears him and glares at him. She orders them into formation and Zayn purposefully gets too close to whisper, “Your name is going to be Liam Malik.”

 

“Why won’t you be Zayn Payne?” Liam asks, and then immediately giggles making the teacher glare at the both of them. They separate holding the form she’s demonstrating to them. “Okay that sounds a little funny.”

 

“It’s cute though,” Zayn admits, stepping on Liam’s toes and feeling altogether clumsy and in love. His anger and embarrassment from before seems to melt away in the face of Liam’s ‘serious’ brow and the reminder that their wedding is less than a week away.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think we’ll be married forever?” Zayn asks quietly, staring at the ceiling and smoking. Liam rarely lets him smoke in the flat anymore but since they’re still recently sated, and panting in each other’s arms, he seems to let it slide. The smoke tendrils away towards the white wall and Zayn’s hand is tight in his fiancé’s.

 

“I don’t know,” Liam says, voice soft. “I hope so.”

 

Zayn kisses his temple. “I think we will be.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because second time’s the charm right?” Zayn laughs when Liam tickles him for the Sophia reference, but he kisses it better, tasting himself still on Liam’s mouth. “But seriously, we will be. We’ll be old and I’ll lose all my hair and you’ll need a cane, and you’ll gripe at me about the garbage and I’ll gripe at you about my knees.”

 

“That sounds lovely, babe.”

 

“We’ll hold hands and we’ll coordinate the decorations on our wheel chairs so we’ll be the cutest in the nursing home.” Zayn jokes, honestly imagining growing old with Liam. Watching the grey drift into his hair, watching his smile be left behind in the skin of his cheeks, Zayn can’t imagine a life much better. He wants to see Liam age and no he never missed a second of it.

 

Liam’s fingers dance with his, and he bites Zayn’s ear lightly. “We’ll be together long after this life I think.”

 

“You think?” Zayn asks seriously. “We’ll be stars together, _I_ think. Can’t imagine being away from you.”

 

“You’ll get tired of me.” Liam jokes, but a sad seriousness leaks into his tone and Zayn looks at him sharply.

 

“Never.” Zayn commands, eyes probably glistening with all the emotion he feels well up in his chest at even the thought.

 

“I can’t wait to marry you.” Liam whispers, voice tight, and Zayn just nods and pulls him tighter into his arms, careful to keep the cigarette somewhere it won’t burn either of them.

 

* * *

 

 

“How is my favorite niece?” Zayn coos the moment Harry opens the door, reaching out for Scoria and scooping her up. She’s still so young that Zayn feels like he takes each step a thousand times more cautiously than normal, and he cradles her to him preciously. She gurgles at him, tiny hand stroking at his beard.

 

“Your favorite niece didn’t sleep last night. She has a bit of a cold and the doctor said she’ll be fine but she’s been finicky all night.” Harry yawns, looking every bit as exhausted as he sounds. Scoria looks just like him, her hair a smooth brown and already starting to curl, eyes bright and green. She’s an angel, and Zayn wonders just when past marriage is the right time to bring up adoption.

 

Not that he and Liam haven’t discussed it, but at the time their engagement hadn’t begun and Liam had only said that he and Sophia couldn’t conceive. He’d never said if he didn’t want her to.

 

“Oh,” Zayn pouts, kissing her warm forehead. “Poor little _jaan_ , you’re not feeling well?” He sits down on Harry’s couch and lays her on his chest, her head on his shoulder, and he rubs her back soothingly. “Do you want to nap, Harry? While I’m here?”

 

“No, no, I want to talk about the wedding. Only a few more days!” Harry exclaims excitedly, grabbing the big scrapbook he’d made to help Zayn and Liam plan the wedding and a large mug of steaming coffee from the kitchen. “So everything decoration wise is set, venue set, catering set courtesy of _moi_ -“

 

“Harry.” Zayn says, cutting off Harry’s stream. “Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For helping me and Liam with the wedding, and for being my best man. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Zayn shrugs like it’s nothing when it’s everything. “Especially with Billboard and the big article, and Liam with the expansion of EYD across London, it would have just been insane trying to organize everything on top of it. So thank you.”

 

“You’re my best mate, you think I could have kept my hands off your wedding?” Harry laughs, though he looks a bit wet in the eyes. “Your welcome, Zayn.”

 

The front door opens after that and in comes Louis looking more haggard than Harry since he’s apparently gone to work despite the lack of sleep. He holds up a hand when Zayn opens his mouth to greet him and slumps down onto the couch, reaching out tiredly for his baby girl.

 

Zayn passes her to him, and he slumps down till his feet are in Zayn’s lap and she’s laid out on his chest, and he goes to sleep right there. Harry and Zayn lock eyes dubiously, cracking up quietly when Louis starts to snore.

 

* * *

 

 

Liam doesn’t talk about Sophia much, and when he does it’s usually to tell Zayn that she’s emailed him a short hello at the holidays or he’s seen her in the news. He doesn’t seem to miss her, but he does go away on his own on their wedding anniversary and Zayn gives him the space he needs.

 

Zayn rarely thinks of her.

 

Which is probably why he sees her a day before their wedding at the same bakery that’s making their wedding cake (since Harry had insisted Liam not work on his own wedding day).

 

“Zayn, wow.” She says, sounding genuinely surprised to see him even though she knows he and Liam are getting married. They’d sent her an invite, for courtesy’s sake, and she’d promptly rsvp’ed “thank you but no”.

 

“Sophia, how are you?” He asks, as he hovers awkwardly at the front counter waiting for the girl to come back with his confirmation for tomorrow. He’s been going around checking that everything is in order for the big day.

 

“I’m well, thank you. I work at Elle now.” She says, sounding just as uncomfortable as he feels. Liam’s ring shines on Zayn’s finger where a similar one used to shine on hers.

 

“That’s rad. I work at Billboard.” He almost punches himself in the face when he realizes that sounds like he’s competing with her. Which he’s not, they’re both successful, no competition necessary.

 

“Ace.” She says, looking to the door. “Um, congratulations, sorry I won’t be able to make the wedding. I wish you and Liam…all the best.”

 

“Thank you.” Zayn feels like he’s being pushed through a tiny hole, and Sophia looks just as miserable. It’s not that she’s hung up on Liam, Zayn’s confident of that, and it’s not like they hate it each other since it has been three years and they’ve met exactly once before. It’s more that she’s Liam’s past, and he’s Liam’s future, and they were never meant to meet here in the present. It feels like a future him is going to appear and say he’s messing with the time vortex.

 

She rushes out of the story without another word, the clicking of her heels on the tile the only thing that remains in Zayn’s mind once she’s gone. He wonders if she’ll come back once she sees him leave, since she hadn’t gotten any cake or talked to the girl behind the counter.

 

When he gets home he tells Liam about it straight away, and he laughs somewhat bitterly. “Do you think that’s a bad omen?”

 

“No,” Zayn answers, shrugging. “Feels more like the final closing of that book.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry wakes him up on his wedding day with a mimosa and a tuxedo and the promise that he’s soon going to be Mr. Zayn Malik, _husband_ to Mr. Liam Malik.


	12. twelve. (epilogue pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short sweet ending to a beautiful love story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's done! thank you all so so much for reading/commenting/supporting the fic and remember that you can always come hang out with me on tumblr @darlinzayn! i'll be writing more 1d/ziam (specifically im doing the writersforziam reverse exchange so keep an eye out for that!) love you all, thank you! hope it feels like a nice sweet happy ending for y'all.
> 
> (also thanks to the person who brought up children but i wasn't intending to put that in but i added it for you!)

Zayn has spent the last three years looking at his boyfriend and constantly being in awe at how handsome he is, and how lucky Zayn is to have him. Every day he’s rolled over in the morning, the blackout curtains gone and replaced by some wispy ones Liam bought, and he’s wondered at the planes of Liam’s face and the pink of his lips and the beauty of his eyes when they flutter open to greet him. They go back to their beach frequently, mostly on their anniversaries, and Zayn’s grateful to see Liam against that familiar backdrop, over the years together.

 

None of the times Zayn has seen Liam, even added together, top the moment when Geoff and Karen are walking Liam down the aisle towards him. Harry had convinced them to follow the traditional pattern of procession, more for the romance than the procedure, assuring them both that it would be worth it for the anticipation. Zayn finds that he agrees.

 

Liam’s wearing a white and gold tuxedo, some of the adornments inspired to complement Zayn’s sherwani, and his hair has been left lightly styled but mostly natural so his curls can knock Zayn’s breath away. Karen and Geoff, looking as elegant and happy as Zayn’s own parents had looked when they’d walked him down the aisle in front of all his friends and family. Nearly half the venue has been filled up with Zayn’s extended family, and some of his cousins look to him the moment Liam comes out grinning but he doesn’t have the mind to even smile back.

 

He’s busy smiling at his soon-to-be husband.

 

“Ready, babe?” Zayn asks, smile unbreakable as Liam takes his hand. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, babe.” Liam squeezes his hand tight. “Lets do this.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright so I met Liam three years ago!” Harry shouts a bit drunk into the microphone Niall’s passing around for speeches, and Zayn buries his face into Liam’s neck and laughs. The reception has been a hazy dream so far, their first dance spent mostly with Zayn stepping on Liam’s toes and kissing the finger that now holds his wedding band. The wedding was beautiful, mixing their individuality, and Zayn’s culture and religion, and Liam’s families traditions as much as possible with the main focus being celebrating Zayn and Liam.

 

Now Zayn can’t stop touching Liam and can’t stop smiling, and no one expects otherwise from them. Liam takes his hand, grin bright and shining in the dim romantic light of their reception venue. “And he made the best cardamom bread I’ve _ever_ had.” Harry continues, declaring it like it’s the best compliment he could ever give. “And he put my best friend Zaynie in a right tizz about the whole Aunt Mariam catastrophe.”

 

Zayn glares at him and Harry pouts till Zayn rolls his eyes. “They were meant to be, is all I’ll say, and I’ve always known it!” Harry sings the last few words and Zayn can’t help but laugh, Liam cackling next to him. Louis pops up from his seat and takes the mic from Harry who frowns deeply, and Louis soothes him with a kiss to the cheek.

 

They all hear Louis thank Harry for the mic and then he smiles at everyone, and says, “Hello everyone. I’m Louis, if you don’t know I’m one of Zayn’s friends, and when Zayn met Liam I was his editor. Of course he’s blossomed beyond my wings now with his big fancy job at Billboard,” Louis smiles fondly at him and Zayn smiles back. “But I’ve never been prouder of anyone. I’ve seen the last few years, my friend Zayn really grow and become so much happier and healthier with Liam by his side. So thank you Liam and I wish the two of you all my love.”

 

Louis lifts his champagne flute and everyone claps and toasts them.

 

Niall grabs the mic next, his hand braced on Bressie’s shoulder, and though he’s a little tipsy he’s also Irish so there’s no slur to his words. “Congratulations, lovers! I remember when Zayn and I would go out for pints and end up drunk and talking ‘bout the future, and Zayn would say he didn’t think he’d ever get married. Didn’t think he’d ever find someone that ace, but look!”

 

Niall gestures with his glass, swinging his arms wildly, and Bressie’s hand grips the bottom of his tux jacket to keep him from falling over. “He found _you_ , Liam and I’m glad that he has because he broods a lot less now! Congrats again mates.” Everyone claps once more, and things dissolve into madness when Niall sits back down half in Bressie’s lap and half in his own chair and ends up on the floor.

 

“Our friends are mad.” Liam whispers to Zayn. “Wanna get out of here?”

 

“I think we’re the honored guests.” Zayn whispers back. “They might notice if we slip out…”

 

Liam gives him a look like, “Are you scared?”

 

Zayn’s up from his seat and pulling Liam out of his immediately, and they’re off, sneaking away from the loud chaotic venue and out into the night.

 

The venue is beautiful, gardens upon gardens upon gardens that seem to continue blossoming even in the darkening night light, and Zayn spins Liam around like they’re still dancing that first dance. “I almost can’t believe we’re actually married.” Zayn admits, kissing Liam softly.

 

“We are.” Liam sings playfully, kissing Zayn’s cheeks before kissing his mouth. His smile is endless, hasn’t wavered the entire day. “I signed the papers.”

 

“Yeah you did.” Zayn agrees, still somewhat in awe that today has even happened. If he’d told himself three years ago he’d be married and working at an amazing job and feeling this good, he’d have thought it was a joke.

 

But it’s not a joke.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up,” Liam whispers into the curve of Zayn’s ear one of the mornings of their honeymoon, the patio doors thrown open to reveal the amazing ocean view they’ve got in the Maldives and blowing in warm arm.

 

Zayn feels a shiver run down his spine, along with Liam’s hand slipping under the covers and running down to his arse. Zayn huffs and pretends to still be asleep so Liam will climb on top of him further, which he does. He also whines in Zayn’s ear, “Come on, baby, wake up. I want to fuck you.”

 

“Don’t you mean ‘make love to me’?” Zayn playfully gripes, rolling over just enough to see Liam’s face.

 

“Sure if that will get you up.” Liam grins. Zayn shoves him till he falls back on the bed and rolls over to straddle him, completely naked in the sanctuary of their suite. Liam’s hands fall to his arse immediately, eyes to his cock, and Zayn kisses him hard.

 

This honeymoon so far has been fucking and flirting, and he intends to eat up every second of the time alone with Liam. No responsibilities, no need for clothes or going outside.

 

He and his _husband_ fall into each other, each touch renewed, every orgasm feeling more intense.

 

* * *

 

**_Ten years later_ **

 

“Where the hell is Asad?” Liam shouts when he gets home to the flat, heart frantic and hands shaking. “His teacher says you picked him up, but it’s supposed to be my day – Oh!“

 

“I’m so sorry! I meant to text you, Liam.” Zayn apologizes but doesn’t take his hands off where they’re pressed over Asad’s, both of their strength being used to push and knead a big pile of dough.

 

“We wanted to make a surprise for you, Daddy!” Asad shouts throwing his hands up and launching a cloud of flour up into the air. Liam coughs, but laughs, feeling better now that he knows for certain where his son is. His teacher had promised she’d checked Zayn’s ID when he’d come to pick him up like she does every day, so he’d known but when Zayn hadn’t texted him back, he’d started to panic.

 

He comes into the kitchen, kissing Zayn and Asad hello. “You’re a right mess, aren’t you, jaan?” Liam muses, noticing that he’s still in his school clothes which have been covered in flour, and using the endearment he picked up from Zayn over the years. “And what are we making here?”

 

“It’s for your birthday.” Zayn explains ruefully, as Asad presses flour covered hands to Liam’s black work shirt.

 

“It’s car-a-mum bread, Daddy! Baba says it’s your specialty!”

 

“Cardamom, jaan.” Zayn corrects running his fingers through Asad’s dark black hair.

 

“That is _so_ thoughtful, thank you!” Liam exclaims, crouching down so he’s in Asad’s eyesight easier. “Can Daddy help you?”

 

“But it’s for your birthday, babe.” Zayn interrupts, Asad nodding along. “You should relax.”

 

“Yeah, Daddy, you can help by sitting down with a glass of wine!” Asad exclaims though he certainly doesn’t understand what wine is.

 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Uncle Harry haven’t you?” Liam kisses Asad’s forehead and concedes. “Alright but can I at least watch? Not every day I get to see your Baba baking.”

 

“I’ve got your recipe, so I won’t f-u-c-k it up.” Zayn smirks, waving Liam’s recipe book at him mockingly and pressing his hands back to the dough which has been sitting for too long now.

 

“I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.” Liam smirks. “Won’t it, Asad?”

 

“It’s going to be the best!” Then he knocks over an entire tub of baking soda onto the floor and Liam tries to dive for it but ends up knocking over a glass of water left on the counter, and Zayn is trying to stop Asad from touching the glass, and Liam’s running to get the broom.

 

But later when the dough is finally finished kneading, and the kitchen is cleaned, and the bread has a couple of number candles shoved into it, carefully lit by Zayn with Asad’s “help”, Liam blows them out and wishes for many more days like today. Many more years with his family. Many more years of Zayn's smile, and watching Asad get bigger and smarter. 

 

When he meets Zayn’s soft loving eyes over the tendrils of smoke from the candles, he knows Zayn knows what he wished for, and wishes the same.


	13. extra scene.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lil peek into domestic ziam with young asad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to write a prompt for the 100 ways to say i love you thing and ended up writing this, which is set in this universe and is for the prompt "pull over, let me drive for awhile" as a way to say ily!

“Pull over, babe,” Liam whispers into the quiet of the car so he won’t waken Asad in the backseat. “Let me drive for awhile.” Zayn doesn’t seem to hear him for a moment, both hands tight on the wheel, eyes glazed to the highway signs. Liam reaches out and pinches his ear, which gets his attention.

“It’s okay,” Zayn assures him. They’re still at least 20 miles from the hotel they’ve booked for tonight, and Zayn’s been doing most of the driving today. It’s probably not okay at all. Liam leans over and kisses his cheek, his seat belt pulling at his chest as it tightens.

“Come on, you’re dead on your feet. Let me finish, you’ve drove enough.” Liam cups the back of Zayn’s head, where the hair is shorn extra short, and scratches lightly like Zayn loves. Practically on cue Zayn smiles, and flicks on the blinker to pass over a few lanes to the next exit. Liam glances back to Asad, whose thumb is tucked gently into his open mouth, the baby blanket Trisha had bought for him tucked all around the edges of his carseat. Under his arm is the little stuffed monkey he’s never without.

They ease off the road into a rest stop, and Zayn turns the car off and gives Liam the keys as he goes to the rest room. Liam goes around to the drivers’ side, and climbs up, putting the seat back a little straighter up than Zayn likes it and rearranging the rearview mirror. He bounces the keys against his knee lightly, turning on the radio and hearing one of Zayn’s favorites come on.

“How’s my jaan?” Liam hears Zayn coo when he gets back to the car and climbs into the backseat with Asad. He watches from the rearview mirror as Zayn pulls their son’s thumb out of his mouth gently, cupping the tiny hand in his before placing it on the stuffed monkey. “You mind if I stay back here, babe?” Zayn yawns, scratching at the greasy hair on top of his head that he’s just unleashed from it’s tight bun.

“No, go ahead,” Liam turns on the car, checking everything is in order, and pulling out of their spot. “Give ‘im a kiss from me.” It seems like days since he’s gotten to get out of the car for more than five minutes and hold his son, when really it’s only been hours since they were in Zayn’s family’s home passing Asad between eager family members. Doniya had barely let him out of her sight. Zayn hadn’t been able to stop beaming like a proud parent either, to Liam’s endless amusement and joy. He can’t wait to just get to the hotel and curl up with his husband for a good night’s sleep.

“Daddy says hi,” Zayn whispers, pressing a kiss to Asad’s forehead and then both his cheeks before buckling up in the middle seat and resting his head on his hand. He’s out like a light, leaving Liam alone with just the very quiet radio and the sounds of his family snoring overlaid on the quiet motorway. He focuses on the lines, and the signs, and lets Zayn rest. His head slowly ends up bent at an uncomfortable looking angle to lay on the side of Asad’s carseat’s back. He’s always been able to sleep anywhere in any position, Liam laughs to himself, rolling down the window for some fresh air.

After a long while, in which Liam’s eyes become more strained and his calf starts to cramp up and he desperately wishes he was in the backseat drooling on Zayn’s shoulder instead of driving, they finally make it to the hotel. Liam pulls up to the front and parks by the front doors, tapping Zayn on the knee to tell him they’re here and receiving only a grumble for his trouble. He decides to go check in before he really wakes Zayn up, and locks the car as he walks into the hotel.

He keeps one eye on the car the entire time he’s checking in, just for safety’s sake, and then bids the concierge a good night and heads back out to his family. Asad and Zayn are still fast asleep, though Zayn’s hand has ended up in their son’s lap, holding onto one of those tiny fingers in their sleep. He drives them into the closed parking garage, and gets out, going around to Zayn’s passenger door and opening it. Leaning in, one knee braced on the seat, he shakes Zayn’s shoulder, and kisses his cheek softly.

“Come on babe, we’re here,” Liam whispers one more time, and Zayn finally wakes up enough to look at him. He smiles softly, and cups Liam’s cheek.

“Thanks for driving, Leem,” He says.

“Of course,” Liam says, pulling away. “You grab Asad, I grab the bags?” Zayn nods, already starting in on the buckles and straps. Asad only wakes enough to grumble just like his Baba does when he’s tired, and wrap his arms around Zayn’s neck as he’s lifted from the carseat. Liam heaves their suitcases and the diaper bag from the trunk, and triple checks that he’s locked the car once everything is settled.

Zayn has Asad in his arms, and Liam finally gets the chance to nuzzle into the gentle baby shampoo scented hair on his son’s head once they’re in the elevator. It feels like too long even though they’d stopped a few times on the drive. “He’s tired,” Zayn remarks sleepily, hand stroking up and down Asad’s back and tucking the blanket around him a little tighter. “A lot of excitement with my family and everything.”

“He had fun though, I think,” Liam holds his arm across the elevator door as they exit and Zayn leads them down the hall to the room. “Everyone loves him.”

“He’s my son, course they do,” Zayn smirks, eyes soft and barely open as he half turns to look at Liam. “Yours too, but that just makes him a nerd.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you with your cousins,” Liam smirks back, unlocking the rom and letting Zayn hold it open with his shoulder while Liam drags the bags in. “If he’s a nerd, he’s getting it from both of us.”

They lay Asad down onto the hotel room bed while Zayn rifles through the bags for his pajamas, and Liam changes. Zayn’s just pulling the final clasps on Asad’s onesie pajamas when Liam’s crawling under the covers, and he makes sure Asad is comfortable with his head on a pillow and under the blankets. Liam watches hazily as Zayn changes, studying the shape of his spine in the dimly lit room while his head slowly sinks into the squishy hotel pillow.

Zayn curls himself around Asad after he gets into bed, reaching over him to take Liam’s hand in his. “I’ll drive again tomorrow,” He says, eyes shut, face relaxed.

“No, I can – “

“I want to,” Zayn says firmly. “Go to sleep, jaan.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please subscribe for notifs on new chapters, and comment!! Thank you for reading <33


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